


In a House In the Woods

by SolarMorrigan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Developing Relationship, First Time, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Violence, Q's cats are there too, many tropes let's be honest, some blood but not a whole lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:30:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: What begins as a simple assignment to locate and acquire an enchanted device turns into a personal mission to learn more about the reclusive mage who created it. Bond doesn't for a minute imagine that he's getting in over his head as he muscles his way past Q's barriers, but finds more than he bargained for on the other side.





	1. A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! I started working on this almost a year ago, and here it is finally! This started out a single scene inspired by some lovely art of 10k's and sort of... grew. Still, I had so much fun working on this (even the frustrating parts) and to be honest, it's kind of just a lot of self-indulgent tropes all stitched together with a fantasy setting but hopefully you guys will still have fun reading it!
> 
> Thanks so much to [azure7539arts](https://azure7539arts.tumblr.com/) for acting as my sounding board for a lot of this, thank you thank you [castillon02](https://castillon02.tumblr.com/) for being _the_ most excellent beta reader, and super thank you to [10kiaoi](https://10kiaoi.tumblr.com/) for creating the art that inspired this ridiculous story in the first place and for letting me run with it!
> 
> [The art is here!](https://10kiaoi.tumblr.com/post/174540425598/does-the-queen-send-her-knights-to-steal-from-the) Go look at it, it's gorgeous

“Don’t move.”

Obligingly, Bond froze.

“Put your hands where I can see them.”

Cursing inwardly, Bond raised his hands up so they were level with his head; he should have had another solid thirty minutes before the mage returned to his house. He should have had time.

“Turn and face me. Slowly.”

Bond did as he was bid.

As expected, the striking figure of an extremely irate mage stood before him, illuminated in the pulsing blue light of the very large staff he was leveling at Bond. His cloak billowed around him with the spare energy rolling off him in waves, and Bond could just see his eyes narrow with suspicion in the low light. Bond’s garb wasn’t subtle in the slightest; it was obvious where he came from, and the mage didn’t seem to appreciate the realization.

His eyes flicked to the device still clutched in Bond’s hand. “Does the queen send her knights to steal from the common people, now?”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Bond smirked, giving the mage a blatant onceover. “You’re hardly common.”

The set of the mage’s mouth tightened. “Put it back.” He tilted his head toward the table where Bond had found the device.

Slowly, unwilling to startle an already displeased mage, Bond reached behind himself and replaced the item in the first empty space he felt out. As he did so, the mage’s glare never wavered from him, and the aim of his staff never faltered. It was hard to say, but Bond wasn’t altogether sure the mage was even blinking. “There,” Bond announced, raising his hand once more. “No harm done.”

This garnered no favor from the mage, but Bond hadn’t really expected it to. Instead, the mage continued to frown and stare. Bond was no stranger to interrogation, or even to the tactic of waiting in silence for a captive to break, but there was something about the mage that set Bond decidedly on edge. The only other mage Bond had done more with than just shoot down in battle was the queen’s own. There had always been an air of mysterious power to the old man who held the position of Royal Wizard, but he had nothing on the burning aura of the man whose home Bond had broken into.

At last, Bond broke the silence. “Am I free to go, then? Or are you planning on doing something heinous to me?”

The mage raised his hand quickly, as if he’d been waiting for Bond’s word, and snapped his fingers.

Where Bond expected some pain or horror, he only received the mild discomfort of bright light shining suddenly into eyes that were accustomed to the dark. He hissed and blinked as the orbs hanging from the limbs of the anomalous tree in the center of the room raised from a dull glow to full brightness.

“Tell me your name,” the mage demanded.

“I am Bond. Sir James Bond. I would offer my hand, but…” Bond glanced pointedly at the mage’s staff; the mage made no move to settle into a proper greeting. “And who am I addressing now?”

The mage tilted his head to the side, at last showing some emotion other than ire. “You don’t know?”

“I did my research on you. The townspeople here will only tell me you’re the mage, or the inventor. The eccentric, even, though I’m not sure they ever meant for you to hear that one.” Bond smirked as the mage betrayed a small huff of amusement. “You’ve done a very thorough job in covering up your identity.”

“Names have power. I would not go throwing mine about freely, Sir Bond.” The way the mage’s voice curled around the title made it sound like a very pleasant taunt, though Bond wasn’t sure it was meant to. “What else do you know about me? Why did you come to steal from me?”

“You settled in this town some years ago, I know. You help the people, give them solutions for their problems, act as a tinker, sometimes even a doctor, but you keep to yourself. Even so, one of your inventions reached Umbravia, though no one can crack it. Your work intrigued Her Majesty. You should be flattered.” Bond offered the information without hesitation; it was hardly damning, and he expected a certain level openness would put the mage at ease.

“If I’d wanted to intrigue Her Majesty, I’d have gone to Umbravia and requested an audience,” the mage bit out. “What I wish is to be left alone in my work.”

“Your work is brilliant. You could help hundreds more people than you do now. Your invention here could save lives.”

“You’re after my scrying device.” The statement was flat, yet still demanded an answer.

“I am,” Bond confirmed.

“It isn’t ready for use. And even if it were, I would not be surrendering it to you.”

Bond frowned. “You cannot be so selfish as to–”

“Do not speak to me about selfishness,” the mage cut in harshly. “Do _not._  You will be going now, Sir Bond. Good night.”

Before Bond could get in another word, the mage raised his staff, and the world went dark.

-/-/-

Bond woke slowly, in calm stages, as if from the sort of deep, restful sleep he hadn’t experienced in years. It was only as he sat up from bed and looked about the small room he’d been renting at the inn in town that he realized he had no recollection of returning there the previous night. It was a moment’s more thought before he remembered the evening’s events.

The mage.

Standing from the bed, Bond inspected the room quickly and found not one thing amiss. He was still in his shirt and trousers, his armor and cloak were put away as always, all his possessions were present and accounted for, and his door was even locked from the inside. It was if he’d simply come in and prepared for bed as usual, then had the best sleep he’d had in ages. Even the usual dull ache of old wounds had quieted down.

Perhaps he ought to irritate mages more often.

(Probably not, though.)

All in all, it was a considerably better ending to a failed infiltration than he could ever have hoped for, but that couldn’t be the end of it. Bond couldn’t turn around and go home to Umbravia just like that; he wouldn’t report back to the capital city without putting up a fight, even if it meant fighting against an enemy he knew dangerously little about.

That dearth of knowledge was something Bond could rectify, however. Mages were people, weren’t they? And Bond certainly knew how to deal with people.

Shuffling through his things, Bond donned something more casual than the outfit meant for spying and combat, and set out. It was a bit too late for breakfast (and Bond honestly, truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past breakfast), but he charmed an apple out of the innkeeper’s daughter before heading for the edge of town to take the worn path to the mage’s house.

It was hardly an impressive structure from the outside, a squat and dingy sort of hut, thrown together with little care for anything but keeping the elements out; Bond had been rather taken aback by it when he first investigated, wondering at how such a purportedly brilliant mage could live in such a hovel. Further probing had shown it all to be camouflage and illusion, however, giving way to the bright and airy interior.

Now, Bond walked straight up to the ramshackle front door and knocked; it sounded far sturdier than it appeared. He had barely to wait half a minute before the door opened just enough to show the unimpressed expression on the mage’s face.

“What?”

Bond smiled, hoping to charm his way past the nonexistent welcome. “I’ve come to offer my apologies.”

“I don’t want them. Go away.”

“I understand now that choosing to invade your home was the wrong way to go about things,” Bond continued, as if the mage had never spoken. “I ought to have spoken with you honestly from the start.”

The mage scoffed. “You’re a thief and a spy. ‘Honesty’ isn’t in your repertoire.”

Bond leaned in, still smiling his charming smile. The mage’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull back. “It is when it needs to be,” Bond told him.

“That doesn’t help your case in the slightest.”

“But I do have a case?”

Now the mage pulled back, frowning all the more. “You won’t be having the device.”

“And this morning, I really do just want to apologize,” Bond insisted.

“Well, you’ve apologized. Now go.” The mage made a little shooing motion with the hand that wasn’t clutching the door.

Bond sighed, just a touch on the dramatic side. “But you haven’t accepted my apology.”

The mage sighed, well past dramatic now. “If I offer you some tea, will you go?”

For a moment or two, Bond feigned consideration of the offer. “Yes, I think that would do nicely.”

“Fine,” the mage ground out. “Would you like some tea, Sir Bond?”

“I would love some, thank you.” Bond nodded.

Scowling, the mage stepped back and opened the door wide enough to admit Bond. “You enter only with my permission. I’ve updated my defenses since your incursion last night. Any attempts to enter my home without my blessing will end uncomfortably for you.”

“Uncomfortably?” Bond glanced at the mage, distracted briefly from his inspection of the house.

The mage gave Bond a sharp smile. “Deeply.”

“Understood.” Bond tipped his head in acquiescence.

“Good. So,” the mage clapped his hands together, “tea.”

Bond half expected that the clap would simply bring the components for tea together, as the mage had lit up the room the previous night, but instead the mage turned and moved toward one corner of the large room the front door had opened up into.

The bulk of the house was made up of the large, circular room that functioned as a workshop and study for the mage, while the rest of the house was the room he and Bond stood in now. Bond could see a bed pressed into a back corner, half hidden by heavy drapes; the heavy door that led to the workshop was set in the center of the back wall and was very firmly shut, though it hadn’t been the previous night when the mage had left the house and Bond had snuck in. It also, strangely, was completely missing its handle. Bond filed the information away and continued to look around, finding that the corner the mage had busied himself in was the kitchen, containing a large table along with an oven and stove.

Then, with the mage’s attention turned from him, instead focusing on the small stove and the kettle thereon, Bond made a valiant attempt to inspect another part of the room, where a cozy nook with a small bookshelf and some plush cushions had been set up. He got so far as to reach toward one of the books on the shelf before the mage’s voice rang out. “Touch nothing.”

Bond pulled his hand back and went to join the mage across the room, settling at the small, worn table. “What should I call you? We can hardly have a proper conversation if all I’ve to call you is ‘mage.’”

The mage had busied himself with the assembly of a tray for tea; two cups had been arranged on saucers, while spoons and honey and small tins floated neatly across the kitchen to join the display. It seemed he was doing it almost without realizing, spooning tea leaves from a canister floating at his left shoulder and plucking a few biscuits from a tin by his right ear to arrange on a plate that had just situated itself on the tray.

“You may call me Q.”

Bond had nearly forgotten he’d asked a question, having become rather enthralled with the casual display of power. He saw little acts of magic in the city, cleaning spells and the like, but never anything quite on this scale, nor with so much precision.

“That’s not really a name,” Bond replied at last, quirking an eyebrow when Q turned to place the tray on the table.

“Of course it’s not. Names have power, I told you. I won’t just freely give you mine,” Q said.

“I gave you mine.”

“Well, that was your mistake.”

“Mistake?” Bond tilted his head to the side. “Are you planning on using it to hex me or something?”

If possible, Q looked even more displeased than previously. “I don’t do that sort of thing,” he snapped, turning away from Bond to pull the kettle from the stove.

“What sort of thing?”

“Hurt people. Curse them, hex them.” Q stared down at the cups as he filled them with hot water, licked his lips in a pause. “Kill them.”

Bond allowed the quiet to sit as Q replaced the kettle and pushed a cup and saucer across the table to Bond before spooning unholy amounts of honey into his own.

“I must apologize again. I did not mean to imply you were the sort who would do harm to others,” Bond said at last.

Q brought his cup up to his lips, blew over it, and took a sip, though it must still have been entirely too hot. “There are those who do,” he said when he’d put the cup down again. “People who wield their magic with no regard for those around them, as though it is their right to hold dominion over others simply because they have a certain skill. But that is not me, Sir Bond.

“I want only to be left in peace to learn and to invent. To help people in small ways if I can. I’ve no aspirations of glory, nor any of war. This – what I have now, this is all I want.”

It was a naïve desire, but Q knew that; that much was clear to Bond, looking over the drawn expression on Q’s face. Rather than tear at the obvious holes in the man’s desires, Bond nodded. “Understood.”

Eyes flicked up to him in something near shock, as if Q didn’t quite believe Bond was acquiescing so easily, but nothing was said. Idly, Q took up a biscuit to dunk in his tea, and they sat and drank in silence.

“Finished?” Q inquired after a short while, when Bond had all but drained his cup.

“Nothing but the leaves left,” Bond confirmed, a teasing quirk to his lips. “Can you read them?”

To Bond’s surprise, Q reached across the small table to take up the empty cup. “Hm.” Q hummed thoughtfully as he stared into the cup, turning it this way and that. “Yes, I see…”

When no further information was forthcoming, Bond prompted the mage. “You see…?”

“They say that you’re a twit, and that you need to get out of my house,” Q said decisively, startling a short laugh out of Bond. Q rolled his eyes. “I’m not a fortune teller, Sir Bond. I don’t read tea leaves or palms or cards.”

“My mistake,” Bond replied genially.

“Indeed. Now, you’ve had your tea, I’ve… accepted your apology, I suppose, and you can go now.” Q stood from his chair to make vague shooing motions at Bond.

“You know, I quite enjoyed talking with you, Q,” Bond commented as he allowed himself to be chivvied towards the door.

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Perhaps we should do this again,” Bond continued breezily.

“You know, let’s not.” Q’s tone was firm as he opened the door and gave Bond a little shove outward. “Good bye, Sir Bond.”

The door shut behind Bond before he could reply, but he made a point to call back anyway, imagining the aggrieved look on Q’s face. “Good day, Q.”

Not a bad start, Bond decided.

-/-/-

The next morning found Bond back at Q’s falsely quaint home. Without magically assisted sleep, Bond woke with the sun as normally, took breakfast with a few other patrons at the inn, and started out into the trees much earlier than the day previously, managing to catch Q just as he was leaving the house.

“Absolutely not,” Q declared as soon as he sighted Bond. “No. Go away this instant.”

Bond grinned. “That’s no way to greet a guest, Q.”

“You are not my guest. You broke into my house,” Q huffed, shifting the empty basket he was carrying from one hip to the other.

“You invited me in yesterday,” Bond pointed out.

“And the invitation will not be repeated.” Q turned from Bond and walked around the side of the house, apparently dismissing him entirely.

“You did accept my apology,” Bond said as he followed along behind Q, unwilling to be so easily shaken off.

“Well that doesn’t mean I have to like you,” Q snapped. “Will you go away, please?”

“I thought you might like the company. You live here alone, don’t you?”

They rounded the back of the house and came upon a small garden, teeming and green in the morning sunshine. “Not entirely alone, no,” Q admitted as he approached the garden. “And I thought _you_ were keeping watch.”

It was a moment before Bond realized Q was not speaking to him, but to something amongst the plants (perhaps the plants themselves? Bond had heard of mages who could speak with the trees, but that hardly seemed Q’s style). Bond approached, and found a large, ginger cat lying on its back in a patch of sun. It chirped up at Q unapologetically.

“Yes, I can see he’s not in the house.” Q jerked a hand in Bond’s direction, still addressing the cat. “But I’d have appreciated a warning that he was coming, at least.”

The cat gave a vague mrrr and rolled onto its front to trot off around the side of the house. “I do _not!”_ Q called after it.

Bond blinked, watching as Q tossed his basket down onto the ground before joining it there, wasting no time in examining the plants. “The cat… speaks to you?” Bond ventured.

“Of course he does. He and Cassiopeia.” Q replied absently, glancing up at Bond before clicking his tongue. “Don’t look at me like that, I haven’t lost my mind. Cassiopeia is my other cat; she and Crux are my familiars.”

Ah; that did clear things up. Bond had begun to wonder vaguely whether it would be easier or harder to acquire the device if Q had gone mad. “I’ve never heard of a mage with two familiars before.”

“Then you likely haven’t heard of many mages. It’s not entirely uncommon, particularly not for those of us with creatures like cats or rats. Crux and Cassi are brother and sister; makes it quite easy to connect with the two of them.”

“And you named them after opposing constellations?”

“I did.” Q nodded, then paused, even his hand stilling as he reached out to pluck a sprig of rosemary. “Why are you still here? Didn’t I tell you to go?”

Holding in a chuckle at how quickly Q had fallen into polite conversation, and how quickly he’d snapped back out of it, Bond knelt to the ground beside Q. “You did. But you also didn’t say that you wouldn’t like the company.”

Q gaped at him. “They’re two contrasting statements! If I wanted your company, I wouldn’t have told you to _go.”_

“You might have,” Bond shrugged, “if you didn’t want to admit to wanting my company.”

“That is a repulsive twist of logic. When I say no, I mean _no,”_ Q said sternly.

Bond nodded, treating the statement with the seriousness it warranted. “Understood. Would my company really be so terrible, though? When I haven’t broken into your house, that is.”

“It isn’t about your terrible company, it’s about respecting my wishes,” Q insisted, shuffling down the patch of garden and pulling herbs and weeds alike, his basket floating along beside him.

“Of course.” Bond nodded again. “You do have a lovely garden, though.”

Q frowned over at him before snapping his attention back to the catnip Crux had been lying in. “Thank you,” he muttered.

“What do you use the herbs for?”

“Elixirs and cooking, both,” Q replied before, it seemed, he could stop himself; Bond wondered when the last time was that someone had engaged the man in a real conversation. “More the former than the latter,” Q added quietly.

“I can tell.” Bond smirked, eyeing the way Q’s loose-fitting garb draped over his lean frame.

 _“Look,”_ Q snapped, throwing a handful of mint down into his basket, “Are you going to sit here and insult my physique, or are you going to go?”

Bond sighed, and made to stand. “It seems I am forever finding new ways to upset you.”

“Perhaps you should solve the problem by not returning,” Q suggested, rather less darkly than Bond might have expected.

Bond grinned. “Or perhaps I just need to figure out how best to please you. Ah,” Bond held up his hand, forestalling the comeback he could see forming on Q’s tongue, “starting with taking my leave.”

Q’s mouth snapped shut, and he glanced away once more, plucking a few small weeds from the earth. “As you should.”

“Good day, Q.” Bond nodded, certain Q was watching him from the corner of his eye, and followed the same path they’d taken around the house back to its front.

A good several meters from the house, Bond chanced a look back, and just about caught a dark head of hair disappearing around the side of the house. He didn’t bother to tamp down his smile, then, and even nodded to the large, ginger cat he spotted not far off the path. “Good day, Crux.”

It never hurt to be polite, after all – certainly not when the creature you were being polite to reported back to the person whose good graces you were attempting to enter.

-/-/-

The tavern below the inn was relatively empty that evening, leaving the innkeeper’s daughter free to come promptly to bring Bond more ale and collect his dinner dishes when he’d finished. “I know it’s none of my business, sir,” she began quietly, glancing around the room in a show of truly conspicuous surreptitiousness, “but you’re trying to charm the mage, aren’t you?”

Bond’s posture remained lax, reclined slightly in his seat even as his mind came quickly to alertness. “Would it be a terrible thing, if I was?”

“No, sir, only just – don’t be too disappointed when – if! If you don’t get very far. Sir.” The girl cleared her throat. “Goodness knows half the eligible people in town have tried, and none of them got more than a kindly ‘good day’ out of him.”

“Terribly popular, is he, your mage?” Bond grinned.

“Well, he’s handsome, isn’t he?” the girl hedged, a bit pink the firelight. “He’s smart and he’s a kind man, so far as anyone here has seen. Bit odd—eccentric, you know—but that doesn’t much stop people.”

“And no one’s efforts have borne fruit?” Bond prompted.

“He’s a shy one. Keeps himself to himself. The baker’s son got him to sit down to tea once, but that’s no surprise.” The girl smiled wryly at him. “If there’s one thing anyone does know, it’s that the mage’s got a sweet tooth.”

Remembering the biscuits Q had paired with his tea the previous morning, Bond perked up with interest. “Does he?”

The girl nodded and continued on about how discouraged the baker’s boy had been when he hadn’t been able to get Q to come around again, but Bond lent her only half an ear as he began plotting.

-/-/-

Q scowled upon seeing him the next morning; Bond found it rather endearing that he kept opening the door, even when he knew it must have been Bond. “Did our conversation yesterday mean nothing?”

“You can tell me to go, and I will. However, I will take these with me when I do.” Bond held up the basket he’d borrowed off the innkeeper’s daughter—Alice, as it happened—packed with a few sweet pastries picked up fresh from the bakery.

Bond could see Q’s eyes track to the basket behind his fine-rimmed spectacles. “I… can buy my own pastries, you know,” Q told him after a moment.

“Ah, but these are here now. No trip to the bakery required,” Bond insisted.

“This is bribery.” Q huffed.

“Oh, most certainly.” Bond nodded.

“To what end? You can’t possibly think you’ll get any of my inventions in exchange for _pastries.”_ The very idea that any of his work would be equivalent to baked goods seemed to offend Q.

“Of course not,” Bond assured him. “The sad fact is, I find that I must bribe my way into your company.”

_“Why?”_

“Because I find it so very pleasant.” Bond grinned, only to be met with deadpan disbelief from Q. “Fine. Perhaps not altogether pleasant, but I do find you very interesting. And not just for your work – though that _is_ interesting.”

Q sighed. “Sir Bond, you will not be having–”

 _“Not_ for professional reasons,” Bond cut in. “At least not entirely. Honestly, I don’t know much about mages at all. I’ve only ever spent time around the Royal Wizard, and that’s been minimal. Your work does fascinate me, Q, because there is so much for me to learn about it.”

Q looked torn, now, certain there had to be a lie to Bond’s declaration, but unable to find one because Bond had spoken the truth as much as he was able. Though Q didn’t have much in the way of social graces, Bond had found him to be rather perceptive – to lie would have been to shake what little ground he had gained.

“It doesn’t hurt, of course, that I do find your company captivating,” Bond added, and was gratified to see the flirtation exasperated Q enough to put him a little at ease.

“Fine,” Q grumbled, stepping aside to open the door. “Come in for some tea, I suppose.”

“Thank you very much.” Bond nodded, as though he’d been given a much more cordial invitation.

“You can stop with the nonsense about appreciating my company, though,” Q continued, leading the way to the kitchen.

Bond chuckled. “Q, you are by far the most interesting person I’ve met in ages.”

And that much, at least, was true.

-/-/-

Something was different that morning, Bond realized as soon as he sighted Q’s house.

For a week, Bond had been coming to visit Q in the mornings and earning decreasingly begrudging offers of tea with a basket of pastries. That morning, however, Q was already waiting outside his door. Gone were the usual, comfortably loose garments he wore around the house, replaced by something close to formal, topped with the cloak Q hadn’t worn since the night Bond broke in. He was armed with his staff and seemed tense, but not quite unhappy. Bond decided the odds were likely in his favor that Q hadn’t decided once and for all that he didn’t want to be bothered anymore.

“No tea this morning, I take it?” Bond ventured.

Q shook his head. “No. I’ve an errand to run. I thought I might let you know, lest you do something unreasonable in my absence.”

“Perhaps I could accompany–”

“No,” Q cut in simply, firmly.

Bond considered arguing only briefly; this was not similar to gently bullying Q the hermit into offering him tea. This was Q in what appeared to be full mage regalia, about to perform some likely important or magical task. This Q was not to be taken lightly. “Alright,” Bond nodded, “tomorrow, then.”

As if this was what Q had been waiting to hear, his tense bearing eased just slightly. “I… I could meet you at the tavern for dinner.” He cleared his throat. “If you’d like.”

“And be seen amongst the common people?” Bond faked surprise.

“Sod off. I do actually _like_ the people in town, you know,” Q snipped, but there was some fondness in his tone; he was quickly learning to take Bond’s teasing lightly.

“Well, then, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner, Q.” Bond smiled warmly, gratified with the flustering it earned him.

“I – Good, yes. Good. I’ll… see you this evening.” Q nodded.

Holding in most outward signs of mirth, Bond inclined his head in return. “Until then.”

Q nodded once more, drew up his hood, and turned around the side of the house to march straight into the woods. Bond could see Cassi trotting at Q’s heels, and had no doubt Crux was watching over the workshop, ready to alert Q to any trespassers. It was a genius system, really, and how Q had known to come home to catch Bond in the act that first night.

With a basket of pastries he now had no idea what to do with and a light feeling he stubbornly attributed to being one step closer to gaining access to Q’s workshop, Bond headed back to town to occupy himself until dinnertime.

-/-/-

The slight hush that fell over the room would have been enough to clue Bond in to Q’s arrival had he not already been watching the door. He gave no needless wave – the tavern wasn’t terribly busy that evening, and Q quickly spotted him in the back corner by the fire. With a nod to the innkeeper, Q weaved through the tables to reach Bond, unfastening his cloak and sweeping it off with a murmured, “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Bond returned, allowing his eyes to linger at Q’s waist, accentuated so well by the waistcoat he wore, before drawing up over surprisingly broad shoulders and to Q’s face. “You look very nice today.”

There was a slight flush to Q’s face as he mumbled his thanks, and Bond doubted if it was entirely due to the chill that had started creeping into the evening air as late. “It’s much more traditional dress; impressive, but not altogether comfortable. I avoid it when I can.” Q tugged at the waistcoat as he sat.

“Something traditional to do?”

Q’s eyes narrowed a bit, glancing over Bond. “Something like that,” he said after a moment.

“Well, you don’t seem to be in as foul a mood as usual,” Bond teased at Q with a small smile. “I trust your errand was successful?”

“It was,” Q nodded, predictably reticent on the matter, glancing around to flag down Alice. “I am starving, though. Have you eaten yet?”

Bond allowed the change of subject to slide; he wouldn’t get anything further out of Q about where he’d been, and it wasn’t altogether necessary to Bond’s goal. “I haven’t. I was waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Q blinked, surprised. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Bond assured him as Alice arrived to take their orders.

Dinner passed quietly, their own easy conversation blending in with the talk of the townspeople around them that had long since resumed. Bond suspected that Q didn’t often—if ever—come into town simply to have a meal, but the people here seemed hard to truly fluster. After a brief pause for surprise, all had resumed as normal, and Q slowly relaxed into his chair as the evening wore on.

“I can’t quite get the measure of you, Sir Bond,” Q admitted, regarding Bond over the frames of his glasses, which had slipped a bit down his nose. “You break into my house, you ignore me when I tell you to leave me alone, and yet you’ve made something of a…tolerable companion this past week.”

“High praise.” Bond smirked, taking a sip from his drink. “You know, you don’t have to keep calling me Sir Bond. You could just call me James.”

Q nodded. “I could.”

“But you won’t, will you?”

Q shook his head. “I won’t,” he confirmed with a small, sharp smile.

Names had power, Q had told Bond several times, though he stubbornly refused to explain anything more about it.

Bond conceded the point. “Well, this is progress, anyway. Sitting down to dinner like civilized people, no one invading anyone’s space.”

“Progress towards what, though?” Q pondered, eyes sharp in the dim light of the tavern.

“I suppose we’ll have to wait and see,” Bond murmured in return.

“I suppose.” Q nodded, though he seemed less certain than just a moment ago. “Though not tonight. Today has been long, and I find myself much in need of sleep.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your rest.” Bond stood as Q did, waited for him to don his cloak, then followed him from the tavern, much to Q’s bemusement.

“Do we need to have another conversation about boundaries?” Q inquired, though his voice was light.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t see you to your house. It’s rather a way from town, and it’s gotten quite dark,” Bond insisted.

“I never see you back to town when you leave my house,” Q pointed out.

“Yes, that’s because you have terrible manners,” Bond replied easily.

A startled laugh stuttered out of Q, but he didn’t try to contest the assertion. “This is a…charming notion, but wholly unnecessary.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Q shook his head and muttered something to himself, but made no further move to shake Bond off until they reached the edge of the forest. “Here is where I leave you,” Q held his hand up to forestall Bond’s argument. “There will be no more conversation on the matter. You don’t come further than this.”

Bond cocked an unimpressed brow at Q. “You live through the damned woods, Q. Walking through them in the dark is dangerous, everyone in town has said so. You don’t even have your staff.”

“It seemed polite not to bring it to dinner. I don’t need it to take care of myself,” Q told Bond, looking every bit as unimpressed. “I’ve lived here for years. I’m much safer in these woods than you are. I’m safer in these woods than _anyone_ around here.”

Bond took a step forward, deliberately butting into Q’s personal space in an effort of both intimidation and concern. “How often do you really go wandering around here at night, though? There are things to fear in the dark, Q.”

Rather than backing away, Q squared his shoulders, looking up the bare inch he needed to meet Bond’s eyes. “You needn’t fear the dark if you’ve made peace with it,” he said quietly, before stepping back and turning to the path that would lead him through the dark and to his home. “Goodnight, Bond.”

Never once did Q look back, apparently assured that Bond would not follow. And though Bond watched until he saw a faint blue light flare up down the path, conjured by Q to show the way, and a little longer still until the light was too far to see clearly, he did not follow.

As he started on his way back to the inn, however, it did not escape his notice that Q had dropped the ‘sir’ from the front of his name.

Progress, indeed.

-/-/-

Q met Bond at the door the next morning looking a bit more ruffled than usual. Bond managed a small amount of concern for a handful of seconds, before Q tensed and snapped, “Crux, get off the damned table!” without ever looking away from Bond.

“Stressful morning?” Bond smirked, just Crux yowled back at Q.

“Rather. Come in, then.” Q waved Bond over the threshold before turning to shout at his cat, “I _should_ be doing it in the workshop, yes, but I’m not! I don’t need a running commentary about it.”

Crux made an odd sort of grumbling noise but allowed Q to pluck him off the kitchen table, where it looked like something vaguely mechanical had been disassembled and spread out.

“This does look like the sort of thing one would want to do in a workshop,” Bond commented. “Why aren’t you in there?”

Q huffed as Crux chirped and climbed from his arms and up onto his shoulders; though he was decidedly one of the largest cats Bond had seen outside of a farm, Q didn’t so much as flinch under the weight. “I need to get some work done but I knew you’d be by and I didn’t want to give you an excuse to try and get into my workshop again, that’s why,” Q said, waspishly.

Bond got the sudden impression that Q had been arguing with Crux about this all morning. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked, without any real heat.

“Bond, if we kept up our acquaintance for one hundred years, I would absolutely never let you forget that you broke into my house and tried to steal from me.” Q was near smiling as he said this, and Bond found it hard to take him quite so seriously.

“I suppose I’ll just have to do my best to assure you that I am completely on the level.” – For now, at least. Getting a gadget willingly out of Q was far easier than forcing a skittish mage’s hand into something dangerous, but Bond would do what he needed to in the end.

“That does beg the question, though: how long do you plan on being here, Bond? Don’t you have some sort of deadline?”

“My assignments are often…flexible. I’m allowed some leeway,” Bond hedged, then lifted up his usual basket of baked goods with his usual small, charming smile. “Shall we get to these, then?”

Eyes narrowed, Q regarded Bond in silence for a few moments before turning to sit at the table. “Just put them there.” He gestured to an empty corner of the table. “It occurred to me that I’ve been rearranging my day for you, and I don’t particularly want that to go on.”

Bond hummed in bland agreement. “Is this a slightly more polite attempt at kicking me out?”

“No,” Q stated, almost sharply. “No, I just… I have work to do, you know. You don’t have to go, but you’ll have to work around my schedule now. Such as it is.”

“Such as it is?” Bond cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t suppose it’s really a discernible schedule to anyone else. I’ve never had to incorporate another person into it.” Q was looking down at the table now, rearranging his tools as he spoke, rather than addressing Bond directly. “But since you can’t seem to tell me when you’ll be leaving town, and since you seem intent on coming ’round near constantly, I suppose I’ll have to.”

This was a change from the usual, straightforward Q that Bond had become accustomed to; his words were still firm, but there was something uncertain to him. Not frightened, but almost – apprehensive.

“Well,” Bond took a seat in the chair facing Q’s, “how do you feel about breaking for lunch, instead?”

“That–” Q paused, blinked at Bond, and nodded. “That sounds doable.”

“Alright, then.” Bond gave Q a small smile that he very nearly returned before looking back down to his work.

Crux had settled in on Q’s shoulders, purring away with his face buried in his paws, and Q still showed no sign of bearing the weight of the overlarge cat, tinkering with the bits and bobs on the table as though there was nothing atop him, and the sound of purring and the occasional clink of metal on metal became the only noise in the room. Bond resigned himself to the wait of an hour or two and settled in to watch Q fuss with whatever it was he was doing; it was only when Bond took a closer look at the components littering the table that he realized he recognized the detritus.

“Is this… a gun?” he asked.

Q glanced up at him, startled at the unexpected question. “It will be, yes.”

“I saw the guns on the wall of your workshop, but I didn’t realize…”

“I make them, yes.” Q nodded. “Something like a hobby, I suppose.”

“Do you know how to use them?”

“Of course. I can hardly design something I don’t understand the function of.”

“But you don’t hurt people.”

Q froze, hands poised halfway in motion, and looked carefully up at Bond. It had been a casual statement, a throwback to their first conversation, but there was a serious sort of curiosity undercutting it. “I don’t hurt people,” Q confirmed. “But I won’t stand idle if someone intends to hurt me.”

“Wise.” Bond nodded, then let the subject rest. “There were swords in your workshop, too.”

“There were.” Q nodded, looking back down to his work.

“Yours?”

“Naturally.”

“And naturally, you know how to use them.”

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” Q rolled his shoulders in a sort of shrug beneath Crux’s weight, “but I wouldn’t die immediately in a swordfight.”

“I might have to test you on all of this one day. See how good you really are,” Bond mused.

“Do you mean my skills with a gun, or with a sword?” Q glanced up at Bond over the rims of his spectacles.

“Both.”

Q gave a noncommittal hum. “We’ll see.”

Bond smirked to himself; it wasn’t a ‘no.’

-/-/-

In no way could Q really be called cruel, but Bond had seen a decided amount of absent-mindedness come from his recent companion, and so when Q shouted for Bond to come in, rather than seeing him over the threshold himself, Bond sincerely hoped Q’s word was enough blessing to get him over the promised “uncomfortable” countermeasures taken against unwanted guests.

Taking a breath he would never admit to, Bond stepped through the door and into the house, feeling no more effect than a rising of the hair on his arms. He brushed his hands down his arms to ease the tickling feeling before turning to find Q in the final stages of dressing for the day, hastily lacing a pair of boots.

He was dressed differently again; less formally than before, but markedly less casual than his usual comfortable attire, in fitted trousers and with a plain waistcoat buttoned over a crisp, clean shirt.

“No demonstration today, I take it?” Bond inquired gamely, setting his usual offering of treats on the table; he’d taken to pestering Q for a show of his skills with a sword or pistol, though to no avail as yet.

“Not today, no. I’ve some business to attend and some errands to run in town.” Q stood and swept his cloak off his bed, squinting at it and frowning. He gave the thing an abrupt shake that produced a much larger burst of air than Bond would have expected, followed by a small cloud of cat hair. With another shake, the cloud disbursed and Q settled the cloak over his shoulders with an air of satisfaction that morphed into something like surprise when he looked up to find Bond still standing in his house. Q blinked and looked back down, ostensibly adjusting his cuffs.

“You can come this time, if you like. I can tell you now, though, it won’t be exciting.”

“I’ve spent the last three days reading a book and watching you enchant various pieces of a gun. Going for a walk will be thrilling,” Bond drawled

Q shot Bond a sharp look, softened by the light of amusement in his eyes. “Just don’t complain to me when it turns out you’ve nothing much to do.”

Bond gave Q what he doubted was a reassuring smile, and watched Q go about collecting his things—a little pouch of something pungent, some coins, a small charm Bond didn’t recognize—before he was ready to set out. Q clicked his tongue and Cassi melted from the shadows somewhere in the house and joined him at his side. Bond wondered if there was something about the cat that was actually able to meld with the darkness, or if it was just her dark fur; he wouldn’t dismiss either option.

“So what is your business this morning, if I may ask?” Bond inquired as they picked their way up the path back to town.

“I’m delivering medicine.”

“I’d heard that you sometimes bring medicines and cures into town. Don’t they have a proper doctor here?”

If Q was offended by the insinuation that he wasn’t a proper doctor—a not untrue assertion, though it may have carried with it the implication that he couldn’t provide proper care—he gave no indication. “Of course they do. Sarah has been practicing for years and is perfectly competent. Just some things are beyond her reach. I’m not a healer, but I can provide something a little stronger than typical medicine, when necessary.”

Though it seemed unlikely to be the case, if Q was so blasé, Bond couldn’t help but flash through the diseases he’d seen choke a town in a matter of weeks. “And what makes it necessary this time?”

“She’s not contagious,” Q assured him, once again making Bond wonder just how deep the mage’s intuition ran. “She was born early, during the winter. Her lungs are weak, and the changes of season tend to lay her up. The medicine I make alleviates some of that.”

The house of the ‘she’ in question seemed to be on the edge of town, as Q took a sharp turn up the first road they crossed and quickly approached a small house, rapping twice on the door. They didn’t have long to wait; a young woman with a tired face and lively eyes answered the door, visibly pleased to see Q, though confused to see Bond. “Good morning, Margery,” Q greeted the woman more warmly than he ever had Bond, and Bond tried not to let that rankle.

“Good morning, Q,” the woman greeted him in return before her gaze strayed back to Bond. “And…”

Q spoke quickly, cutting Bond off before he had the chance to properly introduce himself. “This is my associate, Sir Bond. He’ll be running some errands with me this morning, but he won’t get in the way here. He can even wait outside if you like,” Q suggested brightly.

Bond shot Q a look that illustrated exactly what he thought of that idea, though Q was paying him no mind. However, while Q cared not a whit for propriety or nobility, it seemed Margery certainly did. “Oh, no.” She stepped aside quickly. “Please, come in, both of you. I’m sure it’s not what you’re accustomed to, Sir Bond, but you are welcome here.”

Bond could hear Q’s poorly suppressed snort of amusement as the mage disappeared into the back rooms of the house with Cassi at his side, leaving Bond with Margery by the door.

“There’s no need for formality. Call me James, if you like,” Bond told Margery, offering her a charming smile; by design, he always looked the part of a knight of the realm, well-groomed and dressed in subtly fine clothing, but he’d never stood much on formality. “Q certainly has no trouble treating me the same as everyone else.”

“He is a strange one, our mage,” Margery agreed with some amusement, putting out her hand. “I’m Margery Finch, pardon my not introducing myself earlier. Call me Margery if you like, Sir– ah, James. Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’ll be fine, Margery. I’d best stick with Q, if you don’t mind.” Bond shook her hand firmly and gestured to the rooms Q had disappeared into, prompting Margery to lead him back.

“Of course. Truth be told, that’s where I’d most like to be, too. Can’t stand being away from Holly’s side for long when she’s like this.”

They entered into a tiny bedroom, where an elderly woman was standing to one side and Q was sitting on the end of a bed containing a young girl swamped in blankets. The girl—Holly, Bond assumed—was watching Q with tired eyes as he tipped the contents of the pouch he’d brought along into a cup of steaming water. “I’ve added more mint this time. I thought it might help the taste,” Q was saying, his voice hitting a low and soothing register.

Holly nodded slowly, then sat up slightly to give a few hard, barking coughs. The fit left her wheezing, lying limp against her pillows, but apparently not too tired to give a smile when Cassi jumped up from the floor to join her on the bed. Cassi gave a faint chirp and bussed her head against Holly’s hand until the girl obliged and began to pet her. The cat purred, and Q smirked. “Spoiled thing,” he murmured, giving the cup a swirl and tapping the side three times with the tip of one long finger. “Here we go. You’ll need to sit up.”

For a moment, Q hovered uncertainly at the end of the bed, the cup still clutched in one hand while the other reached abortively towards the girl. The older woman stepped forward then, a look of endeared amusement on her face. “We’ll get you sitting upright, Holly,” the woman assured, slipping a sure hand behind Holly’s back and levering her forward.

“Thank you, Sarah.” Q nodded, leaning forward to offer the cup to Holly.

Sarah—the doctor, it seemed—smiled warmly at Q as Holly began the laborious process of drinking what was apparently some very terrible medicine. Cassi assisted by curling into the girl’s side and purring louder. When the cup was empty, Holly sat back and stuck out her tongue, though her wheezing had all but silenced. “Not enough mint?” Q asked.

Holly shook her head. “Still awful.”

Q hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps we’ll try some honey next time.”

Holly nodded sagely. “Perhaps,” she agreed.

Smiling, Q nodded in return. “I’ll make a note of it. In the meantime, perhaps something for so bravely finishing that awful stuff?”

With the color already returning to her face, Holly leaned forward again, this time eager for whatever it was Q was offering. Bond watched carefully, then, as Q pinched his fingers and drew them down through the air, as though pulling gently on something, and something green began to sprout up from between his fingers and thumb. In quick motion, a stem grew, sprouted a dark bud, and bloomed into a perfect iris, which Q then presented to Holly. The girl gasped, accepting the flower with palpable delight.

“Say thank you, Holly,” Margery reminded her daughter from beside Bond.

Q looked up, again somewhat startled to find there were still other people present, and caught Bond’s eye. In return, Bond gave him the smile his little act of kindness deserved, and Q went a bit pink around the ears, clearing his throat and standing from the bed. He nodded as Holly thanked him and gave her a quick look over. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” Holly yawned. “Tired.”

“That’ll be the medicine. Just sleep. When you wake up, you’ll be fine,” Q assured her.

A few more words were exchanged before Holly was left to nap and everyone else crept quietly back into the front room.

“I ask every time, but you’re sure you won’t accept anything?” Margery turned to Q.

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea, if you have any.” Q smiled.

“Of course.” Margery nodded.

Margery made tea for four, and it was drunk with Margery and Sarah’s idle chatter. Bond answered questions as they were aimed at him, and Q simply stood sipping his tea and listening intently. Bond and Q left the house with one last bout of thanks from both a grateful doctor and relieved mother, and Bond let Q lead them further into town before he broke the silence. “That was interesting.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“You didn’t accept any money.”

“Health oughtn’t be reserved only for those who can pay for it,” Q answered, voice gone curiously tight. “I have other services that are in high demand, and will accept payment for them from those who can afford it, but I won’t charge to make someone well.”

Bond nodded. “Commendable way of thinking.”

“More commendable is action, Bond,” Q said. “Anyone can think. Few will act.”

It was a statement of pragmatism, more than pessimism; it had taken little time for Bond to realize that Q had more experience with the world than his youthful appearance suggested, and Bond found he often appreciated Q’s practical approach to things. Now was no different, and Bond nodded his appreciation of Q’s point.

There were few more words between them as Q continued his errands, leading them in and out of shops. The pleasantries he exchanged with the shop owners were short, but not without some fondness or familiarity; Q seemed to have something to ask after in every place they visited, or else someone had questions to ask of him. He spoke briefly of business matters with some of them, promising them charms or elixirs by a certain date or checking the continued effectiveness of a previously provided service, and Bond found himself quite interested in seeing how Q interacted with these people he obviously cared for, yet held himself apart from almost entirely.

Bond was introduced to everyone he hadn’t yet formally met, and he paid careful attention to faces and names and shop locations, taking care to leave a warm impression on people. He hardly wanted for money when he was near home, but he could only carry so much with him on trips; the longer he stayed in this little town, the likelier it became that he would need to find some way to keep paying his room and board, and taking odd jobs wasn’t a bad way to go about it.

Besides that, he knew he would soon go stir crazy if all he had to do was sit and watch Q work.

The morning passed by quickly enough, and as they trod the now familiar path back to Q’s house, Bond struck up a new line of conversation. “It seems you’re a man of many talents, Q. Weapons design, conjuring, charms, medicine…”

“I like to keep busy,” Q replied.

Bond hummed in agreement. “Whoever you were apprenticed to must have had a broad knowledge, for you to learn all of that.” It wasn’t a subtle statement in the least, but subtlety had never been among Bond’s favorite approaches.

“He did,” Q answered shortly. “Save the medicine – that was mostly self-taught.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. My former master had little interest in healing.”

No further explanation was forthcoming, and Bond let the subject drop, allowing them to finish their trip in silence.

-/-/-

“I can’t help but notice that the door to your workshop has no handle,” Bond noted as he watched Q march out of the room in question with a careful armful of armaments and several more floating along behind him like a spectacularly deadly little line of ducklings.

“You’re terribly observant, then, aren’t you?” Q snipped, not even bothering to turn and check that the door had closed once the last weapon cleared it.

“I’ve been told,” Bond agreed amiably, falling into line behind Q as he made his way out of the house. “Terribly curious, as well.”

“So I’ve seen.” Q offered nothing further, heading around the side of the house before laying everything gently on the ground to fiddle instead with a rough wooden stand.

Bond had yet to discern any rhyme or reason to what Q would use his magic to accomplish versus what he would do by hand. So far, the application of sorcery to move things around seemed to be a largely unconscious impulse and often functioned as a set of second hands; if Q was able to lay his own hands on something, he would, and Bond appreciated how often he found Q rolling his sleeves up and diving into something.

The stand Q had begun setting up had a series of concentric circles meticulously painted onto it, forming a target in the center of the forward-facing board. There was no evidence of previous practice, and Bond expected Q had constructed this target specifically for a session with him. The thought was a pleasant one.

“The door requires a key,” Q said once he’d finished setting up the target, picking up where the conversation had left off.

Bond raised one curious eyebrow. “A key for a lock that doesn’t exist?”

“A key for a lock you simply don’t understand,” Q corrected him mildly. “Now, shall we get started?”

Q had relented on only one pistol and one rifle, telling Bond that ammunition was expensive and that he wouldn’t waste more than was entirely necessary to get Bond to stop badgering him. He had, however, brought out all three of the blades that had been displayed on the wall of the workshop, and Bond looked forward to being able to get his hands on them.

They began with target practice, and Bond was pleased to find that Q’s talent with guns had been undersold; he more than understood how to use them – he very nearly outshot Bond.

“I did tell you,” Q said, a touch of well-deserved smugness coming into his voice as checked the rifle over before setting it safely out of the way.

“Designing a weapon may require an understanding of it, but it doesn’t require mastery,” Bond pointed out.

“The better I understand them, the better my designs are. You did _like_ the pistol, didn’t you?” Q gave Bond a knowing little smile, clearly having spied the avaricious tone to Bond’s movements when he’d taken his turn with the handgun. “But I will admit to finding… some appeal, in being proficient with my guns.”

Bond hummed in vague agreement; he knew the feeling. “Swords, then?” He gestured to the blades lying on the ground in the shade of the house.

“If you still feel we must.” Q nodded, managing to sound in no way as put-upon as Bond expected he meant to. “I’d like a look at yours, though, since you’re going to be putting your hands all over mine.”

It only took a moment for Q to regret his choice of words, flushing and clearing his throat. “Not a word,” he muttered, bending down to snatch up Bond’s sword.

Bond was able to quell his amusement long enough to be impressed with how easily Q managed the weapon; his sword was by no means light, but Q handled it without apparent strain. It was possible he was putting some magic into the lifting and turning of it, but Bond rather doubted it – from the look of things, Q was enraptured enough with his examination that he wanted it fully in his own two hands.

“Well, whoever outfits Her Majesty’s finest certainly does a lovely job of it,” Q announced at last, making to pass the sword back to Bond. “The craftsmanship is exquisite.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it?” Bond accepted the blade with fondness, taking up a ready stance with it and watching as Q took up one of his own swords and did the same.

“If you would, please try not to lop off either of my arms,” Q joked in a way that was belied by his comfortable posture with a sword. “I’m rather reliant on them.”

“Have some faith, Q. I do have some control.” Bond gave him a smirk, and they began the bout.

It was apparent that, though Q was stronger than he looked, he wasn’t nearly as strong as Bond, and though he was better than he’d led Bond to believe, he wasn’t quite good enough to win their first mock duel. He did watch Bond carefully, though, and put that information to use in their second bout, shamelessly exploiting any perceived weakness in Bond’s form (few that there were) and bringing the fight to a swift close in his own favor.

“Impressive,” Bond conceded.

Q grinned and lowered his sword, breathing still heavy with exertion. “I’d have been dead before having the chance to employ any of that knowledge, of course,” he admitted. “I’m always too far up inside my own head for the first round. Paying too much attention to pay attention.”

The words rang out as if often repeated, but Bond let them be. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not sure I even recognized some of your techniques. Where did you learn all of this?” It was a question that encompassed as much as Q would allow it to – not just his skill with a sword, but with a gun, or even the ability to create such weapons at all.

“My master – former master. He was quite keen on dangerous things.”

“Doesn’t sound as though he suited you,” Bond said, recalling what little Q had said of his former master before.

“Perhaps not. But he also believed in being prepared. In being able to wield every tool in your arsenal as a master.” Q’s voice had gone soft, a bit contemplative as he turned away from Bond to clean up from the morning’s activities. “He was a great believer in survival, and perhaps in that way, we were very well matched.”

There were questions burning on the tip of Bond’s tongue, but he swallowed them back; Q didn’t respond well to pushing, he knew, and he couldn’t risk Q shutting him out entirely. This was progress, after all – some small amount, but it was there. Almost as though Q was beginning to trust Bond.

“Well, whatever the reason, your workmanship is excellent,” Bond commented, bending to retrieve the pistol from the ground and hold it out to Q. “I know some people in Umbravia who would pay handsomely for creations like yours.”

It was the wrong thing to say, it quickly became apparent. Q expression shuttered, and he took the pistol from Bond with a bit of a jerk. “We’ve been over this,” Q said, voice gone cold.

Bond sighed. “Q, I didn’t mean…”

“My inventions are not for sale. Not my devices and certainly not my weapons.” Guns cradled carefully in his arms, Q marched around the side of the house with the swords floating along uniformly behind him. “You won’t convince me otherwise.”

Following along, though wary of the swords glinting sharply in the sunlight and careful not to draw too close to Q, Bond huffed. “It was an idle comment. Some might have even considered it a compliment on their work.”

“Well, I don’t.” Rather than opening the workshop door, Q stopped in front of it and turned back to face Bond. “I think it’s time you went back to town.”

Part of Bond wanted to rail against Q’s sudden defensive demeanor. Could he say nothing without offending the man? Did even stray comments have to arouse such suspicion?

What had _happened_ to make Q so skittish? Bond had every intention of finding out.

But not today.

“Alright,” Bond said quietly, nodding once. “Good day, Q.”

“Good day, Bond,” Q answered, just as softly.

Bond felt Q’s eyes on his back as he went from the house, and knew Crux was shadowing his steps right to the edge of the clearing, for once as silent as his breed was famed to be.


	2. Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q talk and their friendship grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter twooooo. Tags have changed a bit, warnings in this chapter for implied abuse and a brief instance of unwanted touching
> 
> Thanks again to [castillon02](https://castillon02.tumblr.com/) for the excellent beta reading!

For a moment, Q just stared at Bond, standing in the small space between the door and the jamb, apparently considering whether to grant Bond entry. Bond said nothing, not even bothering to hold up his usual basket of offerings; Q’s face was dispassionate, cold, but Bond knew where to look now to see the flutters of fidgety indecision around the edges of Q’s expression. It wasn’t a lost cause, and he had only to wait.

Eventually, Q did step back with a murmured, “Come in,” and Bond did so.

There was nothing on the kitchen table this time, and Cassi was perched in Bond’s usual seat. On a normal day, he might have simply usurped Q’s chair, but today it didn’t seem prudent. Without another word, Q went about making tea, and it was all so very reminiscent of the first morning Bond had come to Q’s house that it chafed.

“And here I thought we were past awkward silences,” Bond commented.

“Not quite awkward,” Q said, falling a bit short of the teasing tone he may have had a day ago. “Stilted, maybe.”

Bond rolled his eyes, not without amusement. “You’re going to have to give me some kind of clue if you want me to stop inadvertently offending you, you know.”

“I’ve told you many times, straightforwardly, that my inventions are not for sale,” Q told him, voice frosting over again.

“But I didn’t tell you I was going to sell your guns yesterday, did I? I didn’t say to you, ‘Q, take these to market and sell them.’ I didn’t even offer to do any selling for you. I just made a comment. It’s not my fault you’re sensitive about it.”

Q turned to look at Bond, brows drawn together in irritation. _“Sensitive?”_

“Entirely.” Bond confirmed.

“If you knew– if you knew even a _fraction–”_

“But I don’t. That’s the problem, Q: you won’t tell me,” Bond interjected. “I’ve done my best to show you my intentions are good, but my assurances only go so far when I don’t know what I’m up against.”

“I…” Q faltered a moment. “I can’t.”

Bond shook his head. “You won’t. There’s a difference.”

“What does it _matter?”_ Q snapped. “Can’t, won’t, I– I’ve never told anyone.”

“If you’re in danger, Q – if someone is after you, if you’re in hiding… I could help.”

“Not– not against him, you couldn’t.” Q shook his head.

The makings of tea forgotten behind Q, he sunk into his seat at the table, staring down at the scarred surface. Cassi gave a peep of meow and left her own seat to go sit before Q, bumping her head against his. Absently, Q stroked down her back, and Bond took advantage of the vacancy to sit down.

“Against who?” Bond prodded.

“There is a reason,” Q said solemnly, “I will only ever provide charms and elixirs for sale. Never inventions, never weapons, never large spells. I sell only things that will be used quickly; things that can’t be traced back to me, and things that can’t be used for ill.”

“Tell me why,” Bond pressed again, more gently this time.

Slowly, Q gathered Cassi against his chest, until she stepped into his lap and curled up there, where he continued to pet her. “I was apprenticed very young. I showed a talent for magic very early, and my parents were eager to be rid of me for it. It was troublesome, they said. I started out with the village healer—the closest we had to a wizard or mage—but I quickly outgrew him, and it was pure… luck, I suppose, that another user of magic passed through town when he did.

“He noticed my talent and snapped me right up, whisked me away to his own workshop far, far from my home.” Q let out a brief huff of empty laughter, “My parents hardly said more than goodbye. I doubted if I’d ever see them again.”

Bond had known it was a problem, children who showed any real magical talent being abandoned by their families, branded as a bother or a danger and foisted off on the first available teacher (or on the highest bidder, in worst case scenarios); mages were terribly useful people to have around, but were considered a burden or even a threat when untrained. Bond knew all of this, but it still ticked some store of anger in him, to think of such a thing happening to Q.

“I was ecstatic at the time, of course. Going to a far-off land to learn magic from a true master – it seemed like a dream come true.” Q shot Bond a small, bitter smile. “And it was amazing. My new master lived in what could modestly be called a lodge. The place was enormous, and his workshop must have taken up a third of the space. He promised to teach me all of it, if I was worthy of being taught.

“He did teach me much, of course. I think at first, he was as eager to have a student as I was to be one. After some time, though, he grew… bored, perhaps. I was never sure what changed, but his lessons became more difficult, often painful, and though he told me I was clever, clever – I was never clever enough.” Here, Q paused, his gaze on the table but his mind somewhere far away.

Behind him, the preparations for tea resumed, the kettle and cups and leaves moving at Q’s behest, though he never so much as looked over.

If this was what Q’s old master had considered not clever enough, Bond couldn’t imagine what did meet the man’s standards.

“Whenever I mastered something, he praised me like a pet learning a new trick. Something trivial and cute.” Q sneered at the thought. “I was determined – _desperate_ to prove how brilliant I was. I knew I could prove it, I just needed some inspiration, I thought.  So I snuck into the part of workshop denied to me, where he worked on private projects. I’m not sure what I’d planned on doing. Maybe solving some problem that had been stumping him or some other nonsense, I don’t know.”

The kettle was boiling, and it emptied itself neatly into the two waiting mugs, which showed themselves to the table. The honey and cream joined it, and when Q absently held one hand out over the table, the basket Bond had left on the other side rushed to meet him.

“Instead, I found my things. _My_ things. All the spells and potions and inventions that hadn’t been _good enough._ He was using them. Sometimes building off of them. He’d been lying to me and using me and I – Gods, but I wish now I’d confronted him then. But I was too scared.” The spoon in Q’s tea was stirring too roughly, nearly sloshing hot water over the sides of the cup. “I was a _coward._ Because whatever else he was, my master was a cruel man. I knew it, I’d felt it, and I wouldn’t willingly bring it down upon myself. I said nothing.”

“That wasn’t cowardice, Q. That was survival.”

Q’s head snapped up, pulled from his memories by the reminder of Bond sitting at the table with him.

Bond had been dutifully silent as Q told his story, but found at this point that he simply couldn’t remain so. “You had no reason to believe you could defend yourself against that man, nor any reason to think he would spare you if you ceased to be useful. Staying quiet wasn’t cowardly, it was _smart.”_

“It,” Q shook his head, swallowed, “it gets worse.”

Though he doubted if anything would have been worth Q potentially getting himself murdered over, Bond fell quiet once more.

“To the south of us, there was a fort. There wasn’t anything particularly special about it, but it had granted refuge to a man my master had… taken issue with. So he blew the fort up. Killed several people. Injured dozens more.”

“I remember that,” Bond said. It hadn’t been within the country, but the destruction had been so total that all of the surrounding area had learned of it sooner rather than later. They’d wondered for a time whether it was a declaration of war, but it had eventually been passed off as a solitary act.

The solitary act of a man Q had been apprenticed to.

“He used one of my spells to do that.” Q’s dug his fingers deeper into Cassi’s fur, eyes again trained elsewhere than Bond. “I never – I had only wanted to impress him. Make him see – I never imagined it being used that way. I was a fool. So I… left. I left him. Ran. Traveled for a time. Explored and learned some. Found this place eventually, built my home, and I’ve been here ever since.

“You called me selfish, that first night, Bond, and maybe I am. I don’t want that man to find me. I live in fear of it. But I will also never allow that bastard to get his hands on any of my work again. I _won’t.”_

The only sound between them for a stretch of time after that was Cassi’s purring as Q continued to stroke her fur and she bumped her head insistently against Q’s front.

“Alright,” Bond said at last.

Q looked up at Bond and, though he said nothing, the resignation in his eyes was painful.

“I won’t put you in danger if I can help it, Q. I’ll leave your work alone,” Bond assured Q.

“You–” Q’s brows furrowed with uncertainty. “You will?”

Bond nodded. “You do know the crown would offer you protection, though? You’re brilliant, and you would be an asset. You would be welcomed.”

“I hardly think the crown wants anything to do with someone complicit in mass murder, Bond,” Q scoffed.

“You’re hardly a mass murderer, Q,” Bond retorted.

Q only frowned, and neither man pushed the issue. It was true: Q had been hurt and taken advantage of and had never consented to the use of his work in the manner it had been applied, but it didn’t seem to Bond like this was the time to argue that.

Instead, he took the basket of pastries and pulled out one dusted in icing sugar to offer to Q – his favorite. Q accepted it with a thin smile, and Bond reached across the table to take Q’s free hand in his own.

Q tensed, and Bond realized this was possibly the first time he’d touched Q, barring a few taps during their mock duel the previous day. He thought to let go, but tense as Q was, he wasn’t rejecting Bond’s touch. Instead, Bond held on until Q’s shoulders lost some of their tightness, and Q turned his hand to reciprocate Bond’s hold. His hand was callused, but not so rough as Bond’s, unexpectedly strong even in the lax grip, and Bond decided the hand quite accurately depicted its owner.

-/-/-

Without the constant concern of pressing on a sore spot he didn’t know the existence of, Bond felt freer to ask Q questions – and without the apparent concern of Bond angling for his inventions, Q seemed to feel freer to answer them.

“What _is_ that tail you’re always wearing?” Bond inquired one morning as Q paced the length of his living space, giving Bond a good view of the animal tail that was always secured to Q’s belt – Bond might have called it a fox tail, save the fact he’d never met a black fox whose tail was tipped with dark red.

Half lost in thought, jotting something down in the leather-bound journal he had cradled in one arm, Q spared Bond only a few words. “A gift.”

“Oh? Doesn’t seem your style.” Bond thought back to his brief view of the workshop, “Haven’t seen any other furs around here.”

“Well, no, not – not usually something I’d go for…” Q murmured, still lost in his journal.

Whether due to his connection with his familiars (or whether his connection with his familiars stemmed from his attitude), Q never seemed inclined towards fur. Leather he didn’t mind, he’d mentioned once, because it usually came from animals that were being used for other things. Besides that, it was incredibly useful. Animals caught and killed specifically for their pelts, however, would put Q off.

Yes, it was warm and yes, it was soft, but it wasn’t something Q tended towards.

(“I can’t help but imagine someone skinning Crux or Cassi just for their fur, and it’s just… _ergh,”_ Q had mentioned to Bond once with a shudder.)

“The fae of this forest are strange. Different from any others I’ve met,” Q said, snapping his journal shut as he came back around to awareness. “This was a gift from them; I couldn’t well refuse. Besides – it did grow back.”

Bond had heard a little of the fae of the area—including some ominous talk as to why it wasn’t safe for him to go about the woods at night while unaccompanied by the mage—but Q seemed disinclined to say more on the subject, giving Bond only an enigmatic little smile and offering to start lunch.

A gift from the faeries, though – Bond wasn’t completely clueless to all magical customs; that was something of a big deal. He wondered if he might ever learn what Q had done to earn it.

He wondered if he wanted to meet the faeries in order to find out.

-/-/-

“Tell me about Umbravia.”

The request came almost from nowhere, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over Q and Bond as they tended the patch of herbs around the back of Q’s house.

“What do you want to know?” Bond asked, carefully plucking a few sprigs of mint as Q had shown him.

“I don’t know. Anything. Everything.” Q shrugged. “I was apprenticed straight out of my tiny village, and after that I specifically avoided large settlements and cities, just in case. This town might be the largest place I’ve ever been. Just… what is it like?”

It was busy, in a word. The capital city had been a little overwhelming at first to Bond, who had been raised on his family’s sprawling lands, rather far from anything resembling a city, but he supposed that wasn’t the kind of answer Q was looking for.

“There’s always something to do,” Bond settled on at last. “Things move quickly there, and so do the people. There are more trained mages, but there’s also more everyday magic – people who have some small talent at it but were never trained for more than enchanting a broom and dustpan. If there’s something you need, you can probably find a shop that sells it.

“It’s dangerous there, with so many people and so much going on. It can be a grimy and unpleasant place, but it’s all very human in the end. Home, I suppose.”

Q, when Bond looked over, had stopped weeding, and was instead watching Bond with an interested smile curled on his lips.

Bond quirked a smile back. “What?”

“It just sounds a little amazing.” Q shrugged, still smiling as he returned to his work.

“Even the grimy, dangerous bits?” Bond teased.

“Now, Bond,” Q chided with some amusement, “when have I ever shied away from getting my hands dirty?”

Pulling a few more weeds from the dirt, Q reached out and flicked some of the loose earth from his hands into Bond’s lap. Bond rolled his eyes and brushed the dirt away while Q chuckled beside him and shuffled down the length of the garden plot to continue tending it.

It was a promising sort of conversation—the crown _would_ offer Q protection, Bond knew, and would be ecstatic to have him in their employ—but Bond wondered how well Q really would handle life in Umbravia. He seemed tense just being around however many people were cluttering up the tavern for the evening; Bond wasn’t sure how well he would take to even larger groups of people. And if there was one thing Umbravia had in abundance, it was _people._

“It’s silly, but when I was younger, I wanted to live in a big city like that. Do lots of important, wizardly things,” Q said softly. “Help people. Make an impact.”

“And now?”

Q shrugged. “Hardly matters now. I try not to want things I can’t have. And I rather like my life now, besides. Excepting a few things.”

“Am I among the things to be excepted?” Bond asked with a smirk.

Q didn’t reply, but the small smile he hid by turning his head down was answer enough.

-/-/-

Though Q’s trust in Bond had grown (or, at the very least, his mistrust had lessened), Bond still hadn’t been granted more than brief glimpses of the workshop as Q passed in and out for supplies. Various small details popped out at him each time, but it was always the tree that took most of his attention.

“Is that a real tree?” Bond asked one day, as Q returned to the living area with a small stack of books.

“As opposed to what?” Q settled back down on one of the brightly colored cushions that composed the reading nook by the window, spreading the books out on the floor in front of him.

Bond obligingly moved his feet, tucking them up next to his own cushion. “A fake tree? I just wondered why there would be a tree in the middle of your workshop.”

“Strictly speaking, my workshop is built around the tree. I dared not cut it down without the blessing of the faeries here, but the clearing was otherwise perfect.”

“So you built your entire house around one tree.”

Q glanced up from his books, quirking an eyebrow at Bond. “You _have_ heard stories about what happens when you anger the fae, haven’t you? I wasn’t going to risk it.”

That was fair enough, Bond supposed. “I’m surprised it hasn’t died, being indoors all this time.”

“I may have employed a little magic to keep it healthy.” Q cleared his throat. “Or a lot. And it may have absorbed more since I started doing my work in there.”

“Your very own enchanted tree, hm?” Bond teased.

“It’s a good tree. I like it. Very useful, too,” Q insisted. “Can hang all manner of things from it; herbs, lights, cats…”

“Cats?”

Q snickered. “Oh, yes. Crux and Cassi seem to think it’s _their_ tree, though they mostly just get stuck in it and howl for me to get them down.”

An irate yowl issued from the vicinity of Q’s bed, only furthering the man’s amusement. “It’s true, though!” he called back, and Bond wondered when it became so normal to watch Q hold conversations with his cats.

-/-/-

Paying careful attention, Bond felt almost certain that the key to the workshop door that Q had mentioned was the charm forever hanging around his neck.

Bond had seen it for the first time the day they’d gone out to deliver medication to that little girl, and since then it had migrated from Q’s belt pouch to a thin strip of leather tied around his neck. As the door opened and closed for Q whenever he approached (assuming Q wasn’t having Bond on about the idea of a key and just opening it with a magic whim), it was likely the key was always on his person, and the charm was the only thing Bond had seen Q wear consistently, aside from the tail at his belt – and Bond very sincerely doubted Q would do such a thing as enchant a gift from the faeries.

Q was such a slight thing, almost delicate with his fragile spectacles and softly-fit garments, that it was easy to fall into the idea that if Bond just wanted to take the charm from Q—if he just wanted to take the invention Q had stopped him from retrieving that first night, take whatever brilliant thing he wanted—he could.

And then Q would look up at Bond, his eyes calculating and lit with a spark of raw power, and Bond would abruptly remember that any fight with Q would likely be tipped in the mage’s favor.

Besides that, he’d promised Q, and he’d meant it. All he wanted now was to keep Q safe – and if he could entice Q up to Umbravia, where it would be infinitely easier to do so, well…

“Tell me, Sir Bond, just how long do you plan on sticking around now that you’ve decided you won’t be having my inventions?” Q broke into Bond’s musings with his usual unnerving sort of insight.

“Tired of me already, Q?” Bond smirked to smother any other feelings that might have surfaced.

“I believe I’ve been saying that since day one, actually,” Q reminded Bond. “But in this case, I’m really just curious. You said your assignments are afforded some leeway, but your assignment is technically over now, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps I’ve simply changed the parameters,” Bond offered.

Q gave an uncertain little ‘hm.’ “Still thinking I’ll be welcomed up at the capital?”

“I know you will be,” Bond asserted. “But I won’t force you.”

“Well. You can’t stay here forever, can you? Surely there’s someone waiting for you, if nothing else. Family? A lover?”

“No,” Bond said, shortly.

Certainly, Bond had a few casual lovers here and there, people to whose mutual benefit it was to be able to call upon a certain brand of hospitality now and then, but there was no one waiting for Bond besides his superiors.

For the longest time, it had seemed there would only be the one chance for him – only Vesper. And that hadn’t turned out particularly well.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Q glanced away, put off by Bond’s brusque answer.

“It’s fine. There’s just… no one to wait,” Bond told Q. “And I suppose you wouldn’t have some mooning lover waiting on you somewhere?”

Q actually snorted in amusement at the thought, shaking his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bond.”

“Well you’re certainly attractive enough to have left a trail of broken hearts. Can’t blame a man for wondering.” Bond grinned.

“A trail of…?” Q shook his head. “I’m not– I’ve done no such thing.”

Frowning, Bond reached to place a hand over Q’s arm, watching the little shiver that always seemed to travel over Q at their casual contact. “I wasn’t casting aspersions, Q. I was just teasing,” Bond assured him.

“Yes, well.” Q cleared his throat. “I tried to keep a very low profile before coming here, and if I’m not doing magic, no one looks twice at me.”

“Surely you don’t think that’s true?” Bond couldn’t help the disbelieving little laugh that escaped.

Q only ducked his head, looking back down to the writing he was doing at the table.

“You do know that half the eligible people in town are smitten with you, don’t you?” Bond pressed.

Q’s eyebrows went up. “I– No, I… You’re–” Q paused, cleared his throat for the second time in as many minutes, and tried again. “You must be mistaken.”

“At _least_ half,” Bond insisted, smiling again at the sweet, flustered flush that had worked its way across Q’s face. “Really, I could be convinced to pursue you, if I weren’t already acquainted with your charming manners.”

Q lobbed a crumpled-up piece of paper at his head and Bond only laughed, declaring, “I hope this wasn’t important, because I’m not giving it back.”

-/-/-

Despite Q’s questions over Bond’s assignment, it was easy to fall into the idea that there was nothing pressing going on outside the world of Q’s little house in the woods, and the little town where Bond was staying. Bond couldn’t even quite say he was bored, as Q has begun to find things for him to do around town.

Sometimes, Q would send Bond off early in the afternoon, telling him that the baker’s back was acting up again and he could use a hand with the heavy sacks of flour, or that the shoemaker had an errand that needed running. Occasionally, Q might advise Bond to stop by the smith’s shop before coming to see him in the morning because his apprentice had just decided that the job wasn’t for him and now the smith needed an extra hand, or that the cooper had a late delivery of supplies that needed hunting down.

Though Q didn’t particularly engage with the townspeople on a level that one would think to call them friends, Q listened and paid attention well, and seemed to know what everyone needed – even Bond. The odd jobs earned Bond some coin and kept his restlessness at bay, giving him a feeling of simple usefulness that he hadn’t felt since before he’d taken up spy work.

He’d once thought this sort of life was within his reach, and though he’d thought he’d long since dismissed the fancy, he fell more easily into it than he knew was wise. The townspeople had been surprised at first, asking once or twice if he didn’t consider running inconsequential errands a bit beneath his station, but it was… nice to be needed for something simple and honest. It was nice to be reminded that he was capable of work like this, that beneath his well-developed ability to lie and steal and menace and assassinate, he was still just a man.

It was so nice, in fact, that it didn’t occur to Bond that Q’s knowledge of the town was very nearly preternatural until Q, after seeing Bond back to town for the evening, told him to stay at the inn for breakfast the next morning.

Bond couldn’t imagine why—Q really didn’t seem to mind Bond showing up bright and early, and always awake and ready to let him in—but he had no particular reason to mistrust Q’s advice, and so settled in at an empty table to take breakfast at the inn the following morning, nearly startling Alice.

Breakfast wasn’t anything special that morning—the usual offerings of fruit and porridge and the like—but Bond doubted Q had simply wanted Bond to try the food. He remained vigilant, still wondering what might have necessitated his presence, when a ruckus erupted on the stairs.

A group of travelers was descending, three men dressed in shabby clothes and carrying shabby supplies, laughing and shouting and nudging one another and causing a general disruption to the previously peaceful air of the morning. The few other patrons sitting around the tavern became tense, and Alice was very obviously uncomfortable as she watched the men shove their way to a table. The innkeeper had emerged from the back room to watch with a disapproving eye, and Bond beckoned Alice over before she could move to the traveler’s table to serve them.

“Who are these men?” Bond asked quietly, making no effort to hide his scrutiny.

Alice shrugged. “Just some travelers. We don’t get many new faces around here, we’re so out of the way, but they showed up last night.”

“Have they been causing trouble for you?”

The answer wasn’t immediate; Alice bit the corner of her lip and glanced over at the table. “Not exactly.”

Bond cocked an eyebrow. “Not exactly?”

“They’re loud, is all. Bawdy. Said some things I didn’t care to hear,” Alice said quietly, patting down her apron. “They haven’t _done_ anything, they’re just rude.”

Quietly, Bond considered the table of men, who seemed to be growing impatient for service already. “If you need help…”

Alice gave him a slight smile. “I’ll be alright, Sir. But thank you.”

Bond nodded, though he had no intent of letting the subject lie. He watched closely as Alice spoke to the men, fending off their ill-placed flirting with a practiced edge, and made to leave the table to get their orders. If they had only slung words around, Bond might have stayed put, but the moment one of them reached out, making an obvious and unwelcome grab for Alice’s rear, Bond was out of his seat.

By the time Alice had squeaked with offended shock and spun around, Bond had the perpetrator’s wrist in a harsh grip. Even the innkeeper, who had taken steps towards the table, was startled by the speed with which Bond moved.

“Leave the lady alone,” Bond said, level and low with warning.

One of the men, the one whose wrist Bond wasn’t presently poised to break, scoffed. “A serving girl ain’t a _lady,”_ he sneered. “And we do what we want.”

Slowly, Bond squeezed down on the wrist in his grasp. The man gasped, whining out a warning to the man who’d spoken. “Martin…”

“We paid for our rooms here, we’ll get our money’s worth,” Martin said, sitting back in his chair and directing his smug attention to the innkeeper. “Ain’t that right?”

Bond, too, looked to the innkeeper, but the man hardly looked to be in agreement with his new guest. Alice was standing behind him now, and when he caught Bond’s assessing gaze, he nodded.

Bond looked back to the men. “It seems as though your money’s worth has run out, gentlemen. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

The third man, the largest and quietest of the bunch, stood from the table as if to menace Bond. It was almost laughable. “Or what?”

Bond grinned. Oh, sometimes he loved that question.

The resulting tussle was extremely satisfying, and even ended with minimal property damage – and if there wasn’t someone in town who could fix that splintered table, Bond was sure Q could do something about it. The travelers turned tail and ran when it became apparent they were well outmatched, heading for the edge of town each bruised and slightly bloodied.

Bond himself had taken a few blows, but assessed himself as none the worse for wear as the innkeeper thanked him (and even politely ignored the mess of the table for the time being).

It was only later, when Bond had joined Q at his house, that he remembered to question the mage.

“How did you know?” he asked as Q dabbed something sharp and herbal-smelling onto a bruise on his jaw.

“Know what?” Q murmured, apparently more absorbed in his examination than in the conversation.

“That I would be needed at the inn this morning.” Bond regarded Q carefully; they were hardly ever this close outside of the occasional sword spars Q would indulge Bond with, and for a moment it was stunning to see the clear intelligence and scrutiny sitting in Q’s bright eyes all directed at him. “Did you see the men arrive? Assume they’d give Alice trouble?”

“I didn’t know you’d be needed,” Q said, drawing back. Bond fought the urge to reach out and keep him where he was. “I just had a feeling you’d enjoy having breakfast there this morning.”

“Did you really?” Bond asked flatly.

Q quirked a little smile at Bond, sitting in a confusing middle ground between smug and innocent. “You did enjoy it, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point,” Bond insisted. “How did you _know?”_

“Call it a bit of a hunch, I suppose.” Q shrugged. “With magic does come a certain amount of intuition.”

If there was one thing Bond had learned about Q over the time they’d been spending together, it was that he wore his intent on his sleeves, if you only knew where to look. There was no deception on his face now, no telltale signs of secrets or deceit.

Instead of pressing, Bond filed the information away for later consideration. “Well,” he said, “nothing like a bit of exercise after breakfast.”

“Very true.” Q nodded, smiling again.

-/-/-

It was a (mostly) peaceful existence Bond had fallen into in the last few weeks, but the peace was easily disturbed by a faint chirping coming from the bottom of Bond’s bag.

Though Bond generally eschewed contact with his superiors until his assignment demanded it, he was quick to unearth the hand mirror from his bag and answer its call.

It was a handy little idea the royal wizard had concocted – enchanted mirrors to contact agents of the crown while on assignments. He’d hoped to use it to relay instructions and keep army leaders up to date in the field, but the mirrors were too fragile for that; it was part of the reason Bond had been sent after Q’s scrying device in the first place.

With a murmur of the code word that activated the enchantment on Bond’s end, he was immediately faced with the perpetually severe expression of the queen’s spymaster – M.

 _“Bond,”_ she snapped, “what in the name of all the gods have you been doing? It’s been over a month and we’ve had no word from you.”

“Apologies, Ma’am. I’ve been working on my assignment, as instructed,” Bond replied.

“That’s utter tripe if I’ve ever heard it. If you’d been working as instructed, you’d be on your way back by now,” M huffed at him.

“I did hit a bit of a snag,” Bond admitted. “The item we wanted is inaccessible. I’m doing you one better.”

The image of M in the mirror raised her eyebrow. “Explain.”

“I’m bringing you the mage who invented it.”

“How?” M demanded. “If you couldn’t subdue them long enough to take one bloody invention, how will you subdue a mage long enough to reach the city? Never mind make them work for us.”

“I won’t be forcing him. This one is taking some finesse, but he won’t be forced. I’d go so far as to say he can’t be.” Though part of Bond resisted phrasing his growing friendship with Q as a bargaining chip, he knew what it would take to convince M. “I’m gaining his trust.”

In the mirror, M gave a short, suspicious hum. “I don’t suppose this mage is young and pretty, is he?”

Bond smirked. “Oh, very much so. But he’s also brilliant.”

_“Bond…”_

“No, I think Bond’s got the right idea,” a new voice cut in off the edge of the mirror.

Bond was able to see M roll her eyes before the image shuddered and changed position, showing instead the face of the royal wizard. Bond had never known the man as anything other than “the wizard” and, up to recently, he’d always assumed it was because he simply didn’t know much about him at all. Q’s admonishment about names having power, however, made Bond wonder if anyone at all knew the wizard’s name.

“If this new man’s as brilliant as he seems, he’ll have to be gained peacefully or not at all,” the wizard insisted. “I’ve been studying the charm on that device of his we got our hands on. It didn’t stop working because it was faulty, it stopped due to a failsafe.”

“A failsafe?” Bond asked; Q had never mentioned any such thing on his inventions.

The wizard nodded. “Mm. They’re hard little bits of magic to work, but a mage could make it so that a charmed object taken too far from themselves might simply stop working, as was the case here, or go so far as to make the object terminate violently.”

“Violently?” M’s voice came from the background.

“Explosively, usually,” the wizard replied.

The image shifted and blurred again, and M was staring back out at Bond. “I’ll just need a bit more time, Ma’am,” Bond assured her.

M, if possible, frowned more deeply. “Fine. But don’t leave me in the dark again, Bond.”

“Understood.” Bond nodded.

His time with Q would have to end one way or another, Bond knew, but he held out hope that it would be because Q was busy with a new position at the capital, and not some other, far more disappointing conclusion.

-/-/-

The day had been quiet and, in fact, rather pleasant so far. Bond had settled in at the table with a book while Q had sketched something out on a series of papers covering the surface; he said he was attempting to map a new spell, and Bond didn’t even pretend to understand it entirely. He worried that if he asked, Q might really explain, and he’d barely gotten Q to break for lunch as it was.

They’d only just tucked in to their afternoon meal when Q paused, a slice of bread poised halfway between his plate and his mouth. His eyes were directed at Bond, but it was as though Q was staring right through him.

“Q?” Bond asked after a long moment of silence, “Everything alright?”

Q blinked and shook his head. He dropped the bread directly onto the table, not even aiming for his plate, and stood. “No, I– no. Something is wrong.”

Before Bond could ask for clarification, Q was up and at the workshop door; he disappeared inside for only a moment and reappeared with his staff.

“What do you mean, ‘something is wrong’?” Bond turned to watch Q marching now toward the wardrobe.

“Something is _wrong,”_ Q snapped. “I can’t– I don’t have a better explanation. Something bad is going to happen. Or is happening now. Not sure.”

“Your _intuition?”_

“It’s– something like that, yes. I’m very in-tune with this place. It’s my territory; I can tell when something is off.”

Clicking his tongue for the cats, Q pulled his cloak from the wardrobe and hurriedly fastened it over his casual clothing. “No time for finery,” he told Bond, already heading for the door, “the cloak will be official enough.”

His own lunch forgotten, Bond was up from the table and right behind Q by the time he was stepping out of the house, Crux and Cassi flanking them. They hadn’t even reached the edge of the clearing when the sound of something—or someone—crashing through the underbrush reached their ears.

Bond went tense, abruptly wishing he had his sword, or had something more than the knife he kept at his side. In front of him, Bond could see Q’s back go stiff, while the fur stood up along the cats’ spines; the crashing was quickly accompanied, however, by the sound of a child’s yell, calling something that sounded like–

“Mister Mage! _Mister Mage!”_ The child came barreling into the clearing, limbs flailing, and nearly ran headlong into Q.

Q caught the boy on reflex, putting him back to rights while he caught his breath. “What is it, George?” Q demanded, his hands hovering just around the boy’s shoulders.

“Fire,” George panted. “Annesleys’ house… ’s caught fire, sir!”

Q was off like a shot, Cassi at his heels; Crux stalled out at the edge of the clearing and turned back to yowl at Bond and the boy. Bond couldn’t speak to the beast the way Q could, but he got the general idea – _come on, after him._

Bond slowed his pace just enough to ensure the boy made it back out of the woods with him and let the boy point him the right way. More precise directions were unnecessary; there was already smoke rising into the sky, and Bond sprinted towards its source. He knew how quickly fire could take a close-built little town like this and hoped that whatever Q was planning on doing—for surely Q had a plan—was something good.

It was chaos when Bond arrived, not more than half a minute behind Q, people yelling and running back and forth with buckets and other receptacles from the well, though it seemed to be a lost cause – the house that had apparently been at the center of the blaze was very nearly consumed, and the fire was catching onto the house next door. Q stood in the middle of the mess, staring dauntless and determined up at the fire, staff held firm at his side and Cassi sitting proud at his feet.

“Q?” Bond ventured to grab Q’s shoulder.

“Bond.” Q blinked. “Care to help?”

What a question! “What can I do?”

“Get everyone back. Make them shut up, if you can. I need to concentrate.”

Bond nodded, squeezing Q’s shoulder once in confirmation before turning to the crowd and roaring, “EVERYBODY BACK!”

It was his battlefield voice, the one that told people to pay attention and obey – and they almost always did. Even competing with the roar of the flaming house, Bond’s voice carried, and many people stopped to look at him. Bond shouted again for them to get back, to let Q concentrate.

More people started to notice Q standing beside Bond and realized that something was about to happen. As Bond controlled the crowd, he kept some small fraction of his attention trained on Q, as curious as everyone else about what he would do.

Q’s staff was held in front of him now, gripped firmly in both hands and glowing as it had the first time Bond had seen it; even in the daylight and the glow cast by the burning building, the globe atop the staff shone brightly. Nearly everyone had stopped now, standing in expectant uncertainty to watch their mage do his work.

Robe fluttering about him in a breeze that seemed to be originating from him, Q kept his eyes trained on the fire and raised his staff towards it, mouthing words Bond couldn’t quite hear.

At first, it seemed as if nothing at all was happening, but then – the fire began to shrink.

It was like watching a campfire die down, but in the space of minutes rather than hours. In small increments, the fire sizzled back, leaving smoke and charred wood in its wake, and shrinking down and down and down until nothing at all was left of it.

Then, while everyone was still afraid to do more than breathe, lest they disturb the mage’s spell, Q collapsed.

-/-/-

The cats hadn’t moved from Q’s bed since he’d been lain there a few hours prior.

Once Bond had determined that Q was still breathing, if terribly pale, he’d realized no one else had a damned idea what to do. This was a first in many, many ways.

Finally, Bond had employed a few helpful townspeople and a small cart to get Q back to his home, where the doctor had come and checked Q over. Sarah’s conclusions hadn’t amounted to much, unfortunately; her best guess, as was Bond’s, was that Q had simply exhausted himself. It had been known to happen to mages in extreme conditions, though neither Bond nor Sarah had any experience in treating such a condition.

Keep him warm, had been Sarah’s top advice, feeling how cool to the touch Q’s skin was; feed him when he woke, of course – the innkeeper had sent Alice over with a meal for Q, with little apparent faith in Bond’s ability to provide something (though it was possibly also a show of gratitude). Otherwise, the only solution seemed to be to let Q sleep.

Bond had removed Q’s glasses, cloak, belt, and boots, and tucked him into bed, heaping on a few extra blankets he’d found tucked beneath. Crux and Cassi had immediately jumped up, bristling with uncertain concern for their master; Crux had pushed into the small space between Q’s shoulder and the pillow, occasionally leaning up to nose at Q’s ear, while Cassi had settled by his hip and leaned heavily against him. After that, there was nothing for it but to wait.

Though he attempted to keep busy, there was only so much puttering around Q’s house Bond could do; he cleaned up the remnants of lunch and tidied the wardrobe a bit—left in a mess from Q yanking his cloak free—but dared not touch any books or papers left lying about, lest he disturb some system incomprehensible to anyone but Q. Eventually, he took up a book and dragged a seat over to the bed to wait.

It seemed the book wasn’t quite diverting enough, however, and Bond found his attention continually straying to Q. His forehead, when Bond smoothed back Q’s messy fringe, was still cool to the touch, and his hands similarly so. He was still disconcertingly pale, and Bond couldn’t help but be reminded of Vesper, gone cold and colorless in their bed in the wake of the illness that had taken her.

Bond eventually settled for steadying the book in his lap with one hand, while holding Q’s hand in his other. The cats blinked over at him with bright, knowing eyes, but made no sound, and Bond said nothing in return.

Hours after the fire had been put out, when the sun was beginning to melt into the horizon, Q woke – less in the gentle coming-to Bond had expected and more with a violent startle that sent the cats scrambling.

Q nearly jolted upright in the bed with a gasp, before exhaustion and blankets weighed him back down, and he settled for breathing heavily against the pillows, wide-eyed and confused.

“Q?” Bond reached out for Q’s shoulder, but received a nasty shock when his fingertips got close, like touching a door handle in winter, but amplified. He drew back with a hiss, raising his voice instead. “Q, it’s Bond. It’s just me.”

Instantly, Q turned to him, disoriented and a little unfocused, and Bond wondered if he’d be able to hand Q his glasses without getting another jolt. “J– Bond?” Q frowned.

Bond didn’t miss the slip, though he saw no need to mention it just now. “Me,” he confirmed, leaning a little closer so Q might see him better. “How are you feeling?”

Sagging a little, Q ran a hand over his face. “I… Alright.”

“You’re still pale. Can I touch you, or will you shock me again?” Bond asked.

“Shock you? I– _Oh._ Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“No harm done. I doubt if you have much energy left to do harm with right now.” Bond waved him off.

Slowly, Bond reached for Q, and when he received no shock, he placed his hand on Q’s forehead. “Still a little cold, but you’re worlds better than when we first got you here.”

Bond brushed Q’s fringe away from his forehead once more before laying his hand on one cool cheek and, for a few moments, Q did nothing but close his eyes and lean into the touch like one of the cats angling for a pet or scratch. Bond did his best to refrain from giving Q just that, enticing though the idea was, and Q drew back with an almost startled look, as though he’d only just realized what he was doing. His face colored a little, the pink sitting oddly over the unhealthy pale. “How did you get me home, anyway?” He asked, glancing away.

“A cart and a few helpful townspeople.” Bond drew back, giving Q the space he seemed to need. “You gave them all a bit of a fright. Sarah stopped by, and Alice brought dinner.”

The mention of food perked Q right up. “Oh, dinner sounds excellent. Just, ah… give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to get up, I think.”

As Q attempted to pull himself back into a more upright position, the cats took that moment to make their presence known. The checkup was over (though Bond suspected they had only been using him to see when the danger of being zapped had passed) and Cassi and Crux crept up from their spots at the end of the bed and carefully stomped onto Q’s front, pushing him back down into the pillows. For all Q usually bore their weight without effort, his familiars were not particularly small cats, and Q huffed when Crux yowled in his ear.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Q muttered, reaching up to pet the cats, giving one hand to each.

“Cats have the right idea. You stay there, I’ll get the food,” Bond said, moving over to the kitchen table, where their dinner waited in a covered dish.

“I’m really alright,” Q said, though Bond wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or the cats. “After some food, I’ll be just fine. I always am.”

Cassi made a grumbling sort of noise and pushed her nose up under Q’s chin. Q sighed.

“Not the first time this has happened, I take it?” Bond asked.

“It hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s just the overuse of magic can drain a person. It… happened more often when I was an apprentice.” Q paused, and continued more quietly. “It used to be, the first person to reach for me probably didn’t mean well. That’s where that shock reflex came from, really. I am sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. It’s a good reflex.” Bond stubbornly pushed down the beast in his chest that growled over past hurts it could do nothing about. “I’d hold onto it.”

“You don’t want to hurt me,” Q voice floated over from the bed, smaller than Bond had heard it, but certain.

“No,” Bond said firmly, “I don’t.”

There was more than enough food for two on the plate Alice had delivered, but Bond made sure the lion’s share went to Q before taking the plates he’d prepared back over to the bed. “Alright, let him up. He needs to eat,” Bond told the cats.

With a few more grumbles, Crux and Cassi migrated down the bed to lie on Q’s legs, allowing Q to pull himself upright. Bond deposited both plates in Q’s lap to push the pillows into a more accommodating position, earning himself a wan smile from Q.

“Thank you.” Q accepted the fuller of the two plates when Bond nudged it at him. “You didn’t have to stay, but I appreciate it.”

Bond speared a piece of meat on his fork, giving a slight huff. “You say that as if I’d just leave you alone like that.”

Q shrugged, picking over his own meal. “I’ve been on my own for a very long time. I’d have managed.”

“Well, let’s shoot for more than just _managing_ in the future.”

“Maybe.” Q shrugged again, and dug in.

When he’d cleared about half his plate, Q looked up, glancing around the room almost suspiciously. “It’s dark in here.” He frowned.

“My, you’re quick.” Bond smirked; without Q around to light the little hanging lamps, Bond had made do with a few candles and a small lamp he’d found by the window, but they didn’t quite illuminate the space the way Q did.

“What time is it?”

“Getting late. The sun’s just gone down,” Bond said.

“Oh, Bond, I can’t– I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can see you back to town tonight.” Q turned apologetic eyes on Bond, who just shook his head.

“Q, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere until at least morning.”

“I don’t really…” Q glanced around, and down at the bed, “have anywhere for you to sleep…”

“I’ll take the floor. It’s fine.” Bond shrugged.

“I couldn’t–”

“It’s _fine,”_ Bond insisted, and realized Q really must have been tired if all his stern words received were a glare, and not the usual argument.

“Well, I at least have plenty of blankets for you to use.” Q flapped up the corners of three of the extra blankets Bond had piled over him. “Why am I buried in them, by the way?”

“You were cold,” Bond said shortly. “Why do you have so many blankets?”

“Gifts.” Q smiled, a tired and proud little thing. “I don’t accept payment for many of the services I provide around town, but some people will still bring me things. Food, mostly, but I’ve amassed quite the collection of quilts.”

“Well, they’re very lovely,” Bond said solemnly, then thumped Q gently on the back when he nearly inhaled a carrot in his subsequent amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two down, two to go! I hope everyone is still enjoying!
> 
> As ever, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/) if you're so inclined


	3. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q grow closer still, and eventually manage to talk about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change! Please note! I really should've just rated this E to begin with, but as I was posting it I mostly thought to myself "nope, no smut in this first part, so it's rated T!" which was... my bad. So! If you're invested but you don't like reading anything explicit, probably stop reading at about "Crux and Cassi had been shooed, complaining," and pick up again after the next scene break
> 
> Thank you, of course, to [castillon02](https://castillon02.tumblr.com/) for beta reading!

The woods surrounding the town were beautiful, it had to be said. The trees were lush and full, and the grass grew in soft, inviting patches where crisp leaves didn’t carpet the ground. Heavy clouds above the trees prevented much true light from filtering in and kept everything in a dreamy sort of twilight, and Bond had no trouble believing that faeries inhabited the area. Q was leading the way, pointing out both hazards and attractions to Bond as they walked, and looking a little fae himself, seeming so luminously at home.

He moved freely and familiarly through the trees, even in the heavier clothing he’d chosen to ward off the October chill on their outing that day; he’d instructed Bond to wear the same if he was going to insist on coming along, and though Bond hadn’t precisely insisted, he had ended up following Q along on his gathering trip, anyway. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—a relaxing walk in the woods with Q seemed like a laughable prospect, thinking back on it—but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Q spent most of the time either explaining the properties of the plants he was gathering or prodding Bond to walk faster while Bond did his best to act as though he wasn’t keeping a very careful watch on Q for signs of fatigue or strain.

“Truly, I’m fine. Fully recovered. I was fine two days ago, really, so you can stop twitching every time I so much as step on a twig,” Q said after they’d been walking a while, something like a sigh in his voice.

“I’m not twitching,” Bond replied, which was… not altogether a lie, but not precisely the truth; it had taken a day or so for Q’s color to come back and for his energy to return in full, and in the meantime, he’d seemed like a ghost to Bond. It had frightened him a little more than he would willingly admit. “If I was twitching, it would be because you’re so damned loud.”

Q tossed a doubtful look over his shoulder. “What should I be quiet for? Nothing in these woods wishes me harm, and you’re safe as long as you’re with me.”

The idea that someone had to keep  _ him _ safe was something of a novelty to Bond, still. He didn’t doubt that Q could keep him safe (or the need for it, in woods claimed by faeries and inhabited by gods only knew what else), but when Bond himself was used to being the biggest threat in any given situation – a novelty.

“Well, pardon me for having instincts, then,” Bond snipped, unheated.

Any response of Q’s was lost to the heavy rumble of thunder overhead, and Q frowned. “We should hurry along. I don’t relish getting caught in the rain out here.”

“Haven’t got a spell for that, Q?” Bond teased.

“Oh, and here I thought you wanted me to conserve my energy. And watch where you step – we’re close.”

On reflex, Bond glanced down, though he saw nothing he felt needed stepping around. “Close to what?”

“True faerie territory.” Q held up his hand, signaling for Bond to stop. “Hold a moment.”

Bond watched as Q oriented himself in the middle of the small trail they’d been following and pointed down it, mouthing something to himself. Twice he turned himself fractionally, pointing again, then nodded. “This way,” he gestured to Bond, stepping off the trail.

“You do know where you’re going, don’t you?” Bond asked, though he followed dutifully.

“Of course I do,” Q scoffed. “Maybe you can’t feel the flow of magic in this forest, but I can.”

Thunder rocked through the sky once more. “I thought that was just the oncoming storm,” Bond said dryly.

“Well, there is that,” Q admitted, pausing again to point something out. “Look there, at the base of the tree.”

Considering the multitude of trees, Bond was about to ask  _ which one, _ but a glimmer of something caught his eye. He bent to look closer, and found a bed of mushrooms hiding just beneath the broad leaves of a bush at the base of a very large tree. They were glowing an inexplicable and unignorably bright blue.

“Don’t touch them.” Bond nearly startled at the press of Q’s hand on his shoulder; he realized he was much closer to the mushrooms than he remembered leaning. “They’re hideously poisonous.”

“Lovely,” Bond drawled, taking a firm step back from the fungus.

Q hummed and gave Bond’s shoulder an idle squeeze before moving on, its sudden absence leaving Bond’s shoulder cold.

“Q,” Bond ventured after they’d been walking a few minutes more, “what, exactly, did you do to earn the faeries’ favor?”

For a few beats, there was nothing but the sound of their feet on the ground, and Bond wondered he would get an answer at all. At last Q said, “You know, almost no one in town has magical talent. If they do, they’re mostly content to just perform household spells. They don’t hate magic, but they’re not really knowledgeable about it. When a fae colony set up in the woods near the town, they didn’t know what to do.

“By the time I arrived here, they’d been at each other’s throats for years. It was next to impossible for the townspeople to hunt or go gathering in the woods, and they were threatening to set fires just to get the faeries out. I decided that wouldn’t do at all, and managed to… broker a sort of agreement.”

The woods were growing darker as the storm built itself up overhead. “What kind of agreement?” Bond asked.

“Really, they just needed to learn to respect one another. The faeries keep some of the woods to themselves, allowing no one, but let the townspeople back in to hunt and gather supplies so long as they respect the forest.” Q raised one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s not a perfect arrangement -- the woods still aren’t terribly safe at night --but it’s a damned sight better than it was. The faeries took a liking to me after that, and here we are.”

It was as much a conclusion to the tale as it was an announcement of arrival, as they broke from the trees and into a small clearing. There was nothing altogether remarkable about it, lush and green though it was, and Q ignored most of it to make a beeline for a bush on the other side.

“We walked into the deep woods for…flowers.” Bond approached the bush with a skeptical look; it was covered with blossoms in marbled shades of orange and yellow that nearly looked like flame from far off. They were pretty, certainly, but Bond wasn’t sure what made them worth the trouble.

“Hush. They’re special, obviously. Very rare; I read about them years before I ever came here, didn’t think I’d ever get my hands on them. Look at the edges,” Q instructed.

Kneeling down beside Q, Bond inspected the flowers more closely and found the edges were crisp and brown, like the leaves that were coloring on the trees around them. “Are they dying?”

Q shook his head. “No, they bloom like this. They’re called Storm’s Breath, and they only flower at this time of year, when the barrier between worlds is thin.” Q reached out and grasped one blossom by its delicate stem. “And even then, they’ll only open when there’s thunder in the air – hence the name. Watch.”

Bond leaned in closer, so near he could almost feel the brush of Q’s hair against his temple, and watched as Q snapped the flower from its stem and created a spark, as if he’d just struck flint.

Special flowers, indeed.

“They’re good for a great many things, but very sensitive. I had to get them today or not… at… all.” Q turned his head as he spoke, giving a bit of a start and trailing off as he realized how close his face was to Bond’s. “Sorry,” he murmured, shifting back on his heels.

Quickly, Bond reached out to wrap his hand around Q’s arm, not trapping him, but stilling him. “Don’t be sorry.”

Q all but froze beneath his hand, his gaze locked with Bond’s. “I–”

They heard the roar of the rain against the treetops before they felt it on their skin, but whatever Q might have said was quickly lost to the sudden rush of water pouring over them, the clouds finally too heavy to contain the rain.

Moment lost, Bond released Q and Q hastened to pluck as much Storm’s Breath from the bush as he dared, placing the flowers safely among the other plants he’d collected that day, tucked carefully away in a basket.

“Let’s get back to the house, then,” Q said as he stood.

“Yes,” Bond held back a sigh, standing with Q, “let’s.”

-/-/-

The walk back to Q’s house wasn’t as long as the walk from it, but they were still drenched and shivering by the time they arrived. Q did his best to keep the rain off them but, by his own peevish description, keeping individual raindrops away was like swatting at a cloud of gnats. They made a dash for the house when they broke through the tree line and into the clearing and stumbled through Q’s front door laughing at themselves and each other.

In the kitchen area, the kettle was set to boil before Q had even managed to tug his boots off, two cups setting themselves up with leaves and ready to brew when the water was hot. As expected, Q made straight for his workshop, but stopped at the door rather than going right in. “Well?” He turned to look at Bond. “Come in, then.”

“Into the workshop?” Bond clarified, even as he moved to join Q.

Q shrugged. “It’s where the fireplace is. In any case, I suppose I can probably trust you not to knock me out and steal my things by now.” He smiled, a teasing glint to it.

“Is that what you thought I was going to do?” Bond sniffed, far from actual offense. “How uninspired.”

“You broke into my workshop without regard for any countermeasures or safeguards. Pardon me if I think your approach lacks in creativity.” Q snickered.

“Your safeguard was a cat. Pardon me if I wasn’t terribly concerned,” Bond replied.

They teased and worked in familiar tandem to set up a spot to rest before the hearth. A fire ignited at the click of Q’s fingers (“It’s much easier to set fires than it is to suppress them,” he said in response to the look Bond shot him) and Bond gathered extra blankets and cushions while Q finished the tea.

It was hard to miss the flush that crawled up the back of Q’s neck as they stripped from their wet clothes and down to only their last layers, but Bond kindly made no comment.

Soon, they were nested before the fire, warm cups of tea in hand, the cats lazing on two cushions Q had left a little closer to hearth for them. Bond had always run a bit hot, he found, and was warming quickly between the tea he sipped and heat of the fire. A glance to the side found Q still shivering in his blanket cocoon, though, his cup shaking in his hands as he raised it to his lips.

“Q.”

“Hm?”

“You’re still cold.”

“Oh, well spotted. Very observant.”

Bond shook his head and opened his arms, partially shedding his blanket. “Come here.”

Q blinked at him, owl-eyed. “Excuse me?”

“The last thing you need is to catch your death sitting there being needlessly cold,” Bond told him. “Two people are warmer than one.”

“I– You… want to  _ cuddle. _ For warmth?” Q stuttered.

“Essentially. Come over here.” Bond gestured again.

Casting about for an excuse, Q found little help. The cats dozed on, though from the way their ears were quite suddenly pricked forward, Bond suspected it may have been an act (and from the narrow-eyed look Q shot them, he suspected it as well). Finally, Q set down his half-empty cup and shuffled a little nearer to Bond.

Bond waited, patient as he was able to be with Q’s sudden shyness, until Q was in grabbing distance. Unprepared as he was, it was the work of a moment for Bond to snag Q and pull him snug against his side, ignoring the protesting shout and the blanket-softened elbow to his ribs. “There, see? Is this so bad?” Bond teased.

Q huffed, glancing away. “Not feeling altogether much warmer.”

“That’s because you’re still wrapped up in your own damned blanket.” Bond reached for the quilt Q had rolled up in, “Here, look, just–”

With minimal protest, Q allowed himself to be maneuvered until he was divested of his blanket and sheltered instead beneath Bond’s arm, Bond’s own blanket at their backs and Q’s spread over their laps. As expected, Q’s skin was still chilled, feeling all the sharper against the heat of Bond’s own.

“Better?” Bond asked.

Q opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat, opened his mouth again, then nodded. “Yes,” he managed.

Between the fire’s heat and Bond’s, Q warmed quickly enough. His shivers died down to a fine tremble, but as they continued well past expectation, Bond began to suspect it wasn’t the cold that was affecting Q. Absently, he stroked his thumb against Q’s arm and felt the muscles jump, as if Q simultaneously wanted to press into the touch and pull away.

“Q?” Bond pulled back a little to have a look at Q, to be sure he was alright.

“I’m sorry.” The flush had crept back up Q’s neck and into his cheeks. “This is… a little overwhelming. You – like this. It’s… it’s been just me with the cats for so long. And they’re wonderful, but…”

“It’s not the same, is it?” Bond finished for him.

Q shook his head, staring down at his lap. “I haven’t been like this with someone in – I’ve not… I don’t know if I’ve ever–” Breaking off, Q looked up at Bond, eyes shining with thoughts he couldn’t find the words to express. “It’s just been a very long time.”

“You don’t need to explain, Q. It’s alright.” Bond told him; he resumed stroking at Q’s arm with his thumb, before turning it into a full petting motion with his hand, soothing up and down, shoulder to elbow and back.

Slowly, Q relaxed against him, like leaves drooping in the heat, until he was fairly cradled against Bond’s chest. Bond didn’t know quite how long they sat together; he let time slide over him like the rain against the windows above them. The workshop truly was an exquisite room, packed with colorful odds and ends that bore closer examination at a later date. For now, Bond’s attention simply drifted from one detail to the next: the displayed weapons, the suit of armor, the array of potions and elixirs, the unlit globes hanging from the branches of the tree – all of it fascinating on its own, and together presenting something that would hold Bond’s curiosity for ages if he was allowed.

“Bond?” Q’s voice broke Bond from his thoughts.

“Hm?”

Q lifted his head again to look at Bond as he spoke. “In the forest… were you going to kiss me?”

It was the sort of frankness Bond had come to value from Q, even as it startled a bit of a laugh from him. Before Q could grow too embarrassed, Bond reached up and placed a gentling hand on his neck. “If you’d seemed receptive to it, the thought did cross my mind,” he said softly.

Bond felt the muscles beneath his palm contract as Q swallowed. “And now?” Q asked.

“Am I going to kiss you now?”

“If I seem receptive to it?”

There was a hint of teasing in Q’s voice, and beyond that, something that spoke of want; his eyes flicked conspicuously to Bond’s mouth, his own lips parted and wet by the nervous flick of his tongue. He was still pressed, warm and almost relaxed, against Bond’s side, and did certainly seem receptive.

“Would you like me to kiss you, Q?” Bond’s voice rumbled out, low and inviting.

Q nodded, but then leaned in to break the space between them and press his lips to Bond’s himself.

The kiss was unpracticed and uncertain, things Bond hadn’t come to expect from Q at all, but found just a little endearing all the same. Sliding his hand from Q’s neck and to his hair, Bond gently guided him, reangling his head until their mouths aligned more fully, still soft and chaste and content to be so. Only when Q had relaxed fully against him once more did Bond venture to open his mouth and tease at the seam of Q’s lips with his tongue.

Startled, Q drew back, his breathing gone a bit heavy as he looked at Bond.

“We can stop, if you like,” Bond was quick to offer. “Or just continue as we were. Either’s fine with me.”

“No,” Q shook his head, “Don’t – not just yet. Don’t stop yet.”

Bond grinned and drew Q back in. When next Bond requested entrance, Q opened up for him, both shy and eager, pressing more fully against him and making a sweet little noise at the first slick feel of Bond’s tongue against his own. Their kisses were slow, meant for exploration and enjoyment, and Bond found he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d just kissed someone with no further goal in mind; it was lovely.

Eventually, Q’s back was to the floor while Bond hovered above him, careful not to rest more than a little of his weight on Q, still kissing deep and languid. Bond felt drunk with the sensation of Q’s lean body beneath his, strong hands on Bond’s cheeks, lips moving ever more surely against his own. His mind had gone soft and hazy beneath the feeling of it all, and only sharpened when Q’s hips twitched minutely against his thigh, a noise in the back of Q’s throat that seemed to tread the line between aroused and uncertain.

Pulling back, Bond pecked a line of kisses up from the corner of Q’s mouth, across his cheek, and to his forehead. “Alright?” He breathed, Q’s fringe tickling at his nose.

Q nodded.

Bond looked down to find Q looking right back up, dozy-eyed and pleased. “Feeling warmer?” Bond asked with a smirk.

“Remarkably so,” Q answered, his lips quirking up in kind.

-/-/-

Their days were spent largely in the workshop after that. It was just as well Bond had finally been allowed access, he supposed, as Q spent almost the entirety of the following week bent over burners and flasks, rendering down the Storm’s Breath he’d gathered into something he could use in elixirs and spells. He more readily allowed himself to be pulled away for lunch or for tea, more openly talked with Bond between important tasks, but otherwise seemed quite occupied by his work.

Bond, not one to allow himself to wallow in boredom or idleness for long, spent his time examining the workshop. As expected, there were more than enough curiosities to hold his attention, and though Q generally tutted and scolded when Bond poked and prodded and picked things up, he barred Bond from very little. If one of the cats could be found sitting on or near something, it was a fair indication that Bond wasn’t meant to be mucking about with it.

He did try once, of course, to pick up something Cassi was standing watch over—a little vial of something Q had been working hard on, the contents swirling and dark and, it seemed, neither liquid nor smoke yet somehow both—and had been met with a loud yowl for his trouble. Q had appeared from apparently nowhere to pluck the vial from Bond’s hand and lock it away in cupboard Bond had already tried to open but could not (once again keyed to Q’s charm, Bond guessed). It was alright, though; there were plenty of unguarded things to puzzle over for now.

The one timepiece Bond could find in Q’s house was secured to the tree in the middle of the workshop, and it appeared to be the only clock Q needed; without looking, Q always seemed to know just what time it was and how many hours it had been since sunrise, and how many there would yet be until sunset. Bond supposed these things might be important to Q for magical reasons, but it largely sounded like showing off to him. (Q only smiled, enigmatic and amused, when Bond told him this.) Try as Bond might, he couldn’t quite decipher the markings on the clock, but he had his own watch, and so was only mildly consternated by the whole thing.

The suit of armor moved when he wasn’t looking, Bond was almost certain. Never much, never really conspicuously, but just enough that Bond was continually suspicious of the thing. When asked, Q danced around the subject of how the armor had come into his possession. He hadn’t made it, as Bond had first asked him (“My talents don’t extend quite that far, though I appreciate your high opinion.”); instead, he told Bond that the armor had found its way to him, and had been a resident of the house ever since. “The armor of a true defender,” Q had called it, and said no more.

Crux and Cassi would indeed climb into the tree, then yowl to be taken down a little while later. Bond was almost positive they were able to get themselves down just fine but would bother Q to hear him grumble about it, and to give him smug looks when he eventually did come to lift them out of the tree and cuddle them close to him for a moment before letting them down.

One afternoon, Crux reached down from a low-hanging branch as Bond passed and batted him on the shoulder with one heavy, ginger paw. Q had stepped out of the workshop for a moment, and Bond had stopped in curiosity, only to have Crux leap down from the branch and onto his shoulders.

Bond had stilled in place, startled, while Crux rumbled and purred from his new perch. Q had returned to the workshop and looked positively shocked. “He’s never let another person pick him up before,” he’d blurted.

“I wouldn’t quite call that what happened,” Bond replied.

Crux meowed at Q, who shook his head. “Terrible beast,” he muttered, still fondly perplexed.

There were little changes to their dynamic now—the cats, the workshop, their conversations—but things at large stayed the same, and Bond found it very agreeable.

Really, the main difference now was that, when Bond was certain Q wasn’t concentrating on anything delicate or important, he could come and wrap his arms around Q from behind and be welcomed with the weight of Q leaning back into him. Bond could inquire as to what Q was working on and get an explanation that made more sense to him now than it would have a month or two ago, before he’d made Q’s acquaintance, and if he was lucky he could entice Q away from his work for a bit to come cuddle up with Bond in the overlarge chair he kept near the fire and exchange lazy kisses.

It was only in this that Bond was becoming a bit – frustrated.

They would press close together, they would kiss and touch, but they never did more than that. The moment things became too heated (and Bond was never altogether sure what point was too heated, as the point always seemed to change), Q would pull back, flushed and flustered and unwilling to entertain the notion of continuing. It was obvious he was as affected as Bond—Bond had felt the hard line of Q’s erection against his belly, rutting into him for just a moment before Q had remembered himself and climbed off Bond’s lap altogether—but still he would consent to nothing further.

The last thing Bond wanted to do was press Q into something he wasn’t comfortable with, but oh, Bond wanted him. He wanted Q’s lean body against him, wanted those long legs wrapped around his waist, wanted to squeeze the inviting handful of his bottom, wanted to hear that voice wrecked with pleasure, wanted the hard cock he’d seen so clearly outlined in Q’s trousers, wanted to know the taste, the smell, the feel of him – Gods, he  _ wanted. _

Bond already had most of Q, and he knew it. He already had Q’s laughter, his affection, the brightness of his smile, his excitement in a new project, his trust – but Bond wanted all of it. He was a selfish man, he would willingly admit, and he wanted all of Q.

But not without Q’s consent.

When Q said stop, Bond did; sometimes slowly, always with a certain reluctance to let Q go, but Bond always stopped. That did not, however, mean he gave up on the endeavor completely.

-/-/-

The evening had taken a promising turn after dinner, when Bond had cornered Q and managed to pin him to the wall with kisses, and Q had only made halfhearted protests about washing the dinner dishes before responding enthusiastically to Bond’s mouth on his own. Even as Bond leaned more heavily into him, the faint press of his thigh teasing between Q’s, Q dug his fingers into Bond’s shirt and tugged him closer, still.

Bond could feel the effect their activities were beginning to have on Q, the appealing pressure of his hardening prick beginning to push against Bond’s hip, and was sure Q could feel his reciprocating interest, and yet – yet Q had not called for a halt. He continued to lick into Bond’s mouth, concentrating earnestly, and it gave Bond hope for the proceedings. Slow and firm, he pushed his hips forward, eliciting a startled grunt from Q that turned into a pleasured groan at the grind of Bond against him.

Panting, Q dropped his head back against the wall, his hips twitching forwards even as he pushed at Bond’s shoulders. “It’s getting late,” he rasped, his voice already rough between arousal and regret, “I should… walk you back to town.”

“Or I could stay here tonight,” Bond countered, surging against the weak barrier of Q’s hands to press a few sharp kisses to the line of Q’s throat.

The noise Q made was almost a hurt thing.  _ “Bond.” _

“Q.” Bond sighed. “Why do you keep pulling away from me?”

“I…” Q licked his lips, uncertain.

“You want this, I can feel that, but you keep denying it,” Bond insisted.

“I– I can’t. I can’t do this with you.” Q pushed more firmly at Bond, squirming out from his place against the wall, but Bond didn’t let him go far.

“Why  _ not? _ I won’t force you into anything, Q, not ever, but  _ Gods, _ I need you to make up your mind.” Bond took Q by the wrist, not caging, but demanding attention, “You seem to want me and then – it’s like nothing.”

Q glanced down and away. “I do want you, Bond,” he murmured.

“Then  _ have _ me. I just want to have  _ you _ in return.”

“I can’t.” Q jerked his wrist from Bond’s grip, “I just – I  _ can’t. _ Stop making this so hard.”

“Only if you tell me  _ why, _ Q.”

“Because you’re going to leave!”

Silence stretched tight and trembling between them, both startled by Q’s outburst.

“You – you have a life to go back to. No matter what you say about it, eventually you’ll have to give me up as a bad job and go home,” Q said, voice gone quiet again.

Bond shook his head. “Q, I–”

“And that’s fine,” Q insisted, cutting over Bond, “I knew you would have to go. I accepted it – I accept it. But I can’t… can’t be…  _ with _ you, and then watch you go. I don’t want to see you forget me like that. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Something in Bond cracked just a little, to hear the defeat already laced in Q’s voice; that wasn’t right, that wasn’t how Q was meant to sound. And because of him? No, that wouldn’t do. Bond stepped into Q’s space once more, pleased when Q didn’t pull back, and put his arms around him.

“I could never, never forget you. You’ve taken me over too completely.”

A little laugh worked its way out of Q’s throat, warbly and distressed. “I should never have even let it go this far, but I just –  _ wanted. _ I wanted so badly…”

“You have me, Q,” Bond told him.

“Until you leave,” Q corrected, even as he rested his cheek against Bond’s shoulder. “I have you until you leave.”

That wasn’t altogether true, Bond considered, raising a hand to pet at Q’s hair the way he’d quickly learned Q liked; if Q would agree to return to Umbravia with him for protection, if not work, Q would have Bond for as long as he wanted. Or – or. Well.

“What if I didn’t leave?”

Bond could feel Q go tense against him. “What?” Q asked, voice a little muffled against Bond’s shirt.

“What if I stayed here? With you.”

“No.” Q’s rejection was immediate, and stung more than Bond expected.

Q pulled from Bond’s suddenly lax grip to look at him, his stormy expression softening with whatever he must have seen in Bond’s own. “No, it’s not – I would like that very much, but I can’t let you give up your life for me, Bond,” he soothed. “I already gave up my own dreams; I won’t bring you down by forcing you to drop yours.”

Had being a spy for the realm ever been Bond’s dream? He couldn’t quite remember anymore, but it didn’t seem prudent to quibble over that particular point at the moment. “I tried settling down once, you know,” Bond said instead.

Q’s brows furrowed together, surprise and confusion in one, and Bond searched for the words to continue. He’d spoken of Vesper to so few people, and even now it hurt. The opportunity they’d been robbed of, the love he’d lost – “There was a woman. I loved her. We were to be married, but – she was afraid. What I did… She worried over it. So I thought to retire. Become a lazy, contented lord, for the love of her.”

The very premise ticked up the corners of Q’s lips, but he sobered quickly. “What happened?”

“She died,” Bond said, bluntly. “She took ill shortly before our wedding. It took her so quickly… I’d barely even left my work, and I threw myself back in.”

“I’m sorry.” There was the tentative press of Q’s hand on his cheek, and Bond allowed himself to tilt his head into it, just a little.

“It didn’t occur to me that someone else… That there would ever be anyone else for me. But if you wanted me, Q – wanted me here, I could stay. I could try.”

“No.” Q’s rejection was gentler this time, accompanied by a sweet, sad tilt of his mouth. “Maybe I haven’t seen you at it, but I know your work is part of who you are. You can only really give it up when you’re ready. I won’t ask it of you.”

In response, Bond leaned in to kiss the melancholy smile from Q’s lips. He would do anything to keep Q now – he would, but it was novel that he didn’t have to. Somehow, Q wanted him as he was, not on a caveat, and Bond felt all the more enamored of him for it.

“As long as you want me, I’m yours,” Bond breathed as the kiss ended. “Just be mine, too, Q.”

“Henry,” Q said, so quietly Bond almost missed it.

“What?”

“My name is Henry. Henry Smith.”

Bond blinked, the full meaning of the answer dawning on him in increments, a smile pulling onto his face as it did so. He couldn’t help the chuckles that followed, quiet and incredulous little hiccups of laughter.

“What?” Q demanded.

“It’s just,” Bond shook his head, trying in vain to hold back his pure, relieved amusement, “you have the plainest name I’ve ever heard of on a mage.”

Q continued frowning at him, though he seemed to be trying very hard not to let it melt into a smile. “My parents didn’t want a mage, they wanted an ordinary son. They gave me an ordinary name.”

“Well, I’m afraid they’d be very disappointed,” Bond said lightly, leaning in so that his next words brushed against Q’s lips. “You’ve turned into the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known.”

-/-/-

Crux and Cassi had been shooed, complaining, from Q’s bed, and the curtains had been drawn, leaving Bond and Q enclosed and tangled on top of the sheets, lost to a world between the two of them.

Q’s skin glowed soft and golden in the light of a single globe lamp, his features gentler without his spectacles, and his body every bit as exquisite pressed beneath Bond’s as it had been the first time. Never one to waste time where such things were concerned, Bond was already down to his pants, but was working more slowly to coax Q’s own clothes from him, rewarding him with melting kisses and the firm press of hands into skin with every piece lost.

Vest and trousers had gone without a fuss, each adding to fetching flush that had worked its way across Q’s face and down his neck, a tide of pink Bond didn’t resist following with his mouth; it was only when Bond’s hands pushed up and under Q’s shirt that he felt Q tense with something other than anticipation. He went nearly rigid beneath Bond, and there was apprehension in his eyes when Bond looked up to meet them.

“Alright?” Bond asked gently.

“I…” Q wet his lips, less arousal and more nervous tick, and swallowed. “Fine. Just – let me.”

Obligingly, Bond sat back on his heels, gratified when Q’s attention was briefly caught on how the position framed his cock, firm and obvious through his pants – the mood hadn’t been completely lost, then. After a moment to look his fill, Q managed to pull his eyes away and grab the bottom of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head in one fast motion that left his hair standing on end. He tossed the shirt over the side of the bed and laid back against the pillows where he had been, eyeing Bond with equal parts nerves and defiance.

There were the broad shoulders Bond had become familiar with, and the lean, compact muscle he had learned in their sword spars, and the narrow waist Bond had quickly come to love wrapping with his hands, all of it covered in pale, creamy skin, marred by a smattering of freckles and by –

“Will it hurt if I…?” Bond reached up to brush fingers along Q’s side.

Q shook his head.

The scars were all smooth and long-healed, most of them small and placed at random. Though Bond couldn’t see, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find as many on Q’s back as there were peppering his arms and chest. Part of Q’s apprenticeship, Bond supposed darkly, taking in the unusual shapes and patterns to some of them – scars made by magic.

It was the largest, however, that held Bond’s attention: a long, vicious thing, set into the meat of Q’s side; big enough to have been a life-threatening wound. The skin was indented and textured, the pattern rimming it still red and harkening to the biting tips of a flame. If the other scars had been made by magic, this one had been the nastiest of the lot. He looked back up to Q, who gave him a rueful sort of smirk.

“That one was the price I paid for leaving. None of them pain me any more than yours do, I’m sure. I’ve just never…” Q trailed off there, seeming uncertain, and Bond leaned down to press a kiss to his side.

“Beautiful,” Bond murmured into Q’s skin, trailing a few more kisses up his ribs, over smooth skin and scars alike. “Every bit of you.” Bond paused to drag his tongue across one nipple, then repeated the action when it received a promising response, before moving on up Q’s neck. “My strong, beautiful survivor.”

Bond made it no further than the edge of Q’s jaw before Q had a hand on the back of Bond’s head, redirecting him so their mouths met, sharper and more open than before. It carried on, slick and needful, until Bond rocked his hips down into Q’s, causing Q to break off with a gasp. Bond repeated the motion, this time startling a little noise from Q.

“What do you like, sweetheart?” Bond asked, nosing into the soft skin below Q’s ear. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

If possible, Q’s flush grew deeper. “I’m not– I’ve… not with– with another…”

“When it’s just you, then,” Bond saved Q the perceived embarrassment of having to finish the thought, “just your own hands on your body here in your bed, how do you make yourself come?”

Another needy sound worked its way from Q’s throat, and Q twisted beneath Bond to grope around at the head of the bed, pulling a little glass vial from an almost hidden niche there and pressing it into Bond’s hands. Despite the many similar vials sitting on shelves in Q’s workshop, it was hard to mistake the consistency of the liquid inside (or the intent in Q’s eyes): lubricant.

“A promising start. What do you do with this?” Bond chuckled, wiggling the vial in front of Q.

“I’ve tried… a few things,” Q admitted, slightly less choked now.

“Tell me,” Bond prompted, dotting a few kisses back down Q’s neck and reaching up to thumb at the head of Q’s cock under the growing wet patch on his pants. “Do you use it to tug your pretty prick?”

Q made a strangled sort of noise that seemed to be caught between arousal and amusement.

“Well, I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m sure it’s as pretty as the rest of you,” Bond insisted. “And you haven’t answered my question.”

Whatever response Q might have made turned into a startled grunt as Bond reached into his pants and wrapped his fingers around Q’s prick.  _ “Yes,” _ Q breathed, as much an encouragement as an answer.

Bond pumped his fist a few times, thumbing again at the head to spread the moisture there, leaning in close to press his words into the skin of Q’s cheek. “Do you like it slow, like this? Do you tease yourself? Or do you like it tighter? Faster?”

Legs spread almost as far as he could get them, Q bucked up into Bond’s hand. “Faster, yes. Please.”

Bond’s hand sped for a few more passes, long enough to make Q sigh and thrust up again, before releasing Q’s cock altogether. Q had no more time than to whine with the sudden loss before Bond reached down to cup Q’s balls, rolling them carefully in his palm at the awkward angle forced by the constriction of Q’s pants. “And you pay proper attention to these, of course,” Bond said, squeezing gently.

“Of course,” Q agreed, a pitch of incredulity threaded through his voice. “Bond–”

“What else, Q?”

“I… Fingers,” Q managed to force out when Bond stopped moving his hand, the rest of the words tumbling out in a rush with a bashful arm tossed over Q’s eyes, “Myself. Finger myself. Sometimes.”

The confession drove a heavy spike of lust into the pit of Bond’s stomach. “Do you?” he asked, voice practically ground down with the sudden surge of arousal.

Q nodded, barely daring to look out from beneath his arm. “I read that it could be… pleasurable.”

Of course he had; a rush of fondness joined the arousal simmering in Bond’s veins. “And was it?”

Q nodded again, this time without uttering a word, though there was a quick intake of breath when Bond pulled his hand from Q’s pants and began to inch the article in question down Q’s hips. His cock stood to attention when freed from the confines of fabric, and was much like the rest of Q: long and lean and horribly tempting. Bond licked his lips. “Do you think of me?” He asked on impulse. “When you touch yourself, do you?”

“Don’t… you don’t have to make fun, just please…” Q muttered, moving his arm only to cover his face with his hands.

“Q,” Bond reached up to pry Q’s hand from his face, meeting only a little resistance, “I’m not making fun. You think I haven’t imagined you?”

“I… Have you?” Q blinked up at Bond, surprised.

“I have,” Bond confirmed warmly, pressing a kiss to Q’s mouth. “I’ve thought about your hands and your mouth and your cock. Your clever fingers and your perfect little arse. I’ve thought about being inside you, about tasting you.” In one fluid movement, Bond bent down and licked up the length of Q’s cock, startling a loud groan from him. “Do you think about me?”

“Yes,” Q gasped, his hands fluttering around Bond’s shoulders, uncertain of where to settle.

Grinning, Bond wrapped his hand once more around Q’s prick. “Do you imagine it’s my hand on you? Or that it’s my fingers inside you? Or my cock?” With his other hand, Bond skimmed over Q’s balls to press one finger behind them. “Do you imagine me fucking you?”

“O-occasionally…”

Slowly, Bond’s finger slid back until he was rubbing gently at Q’s hole, eliciting a choked sort of whine. “Do you want to try it?”

Hips twitching, caught between a thrust up into Bond’s hand and a jerk back against his finger, Q nodded frantically.  _ “Yes.” _

Bond reached for the lubricant, previously left to the side of the bed, and pulled the stopper from the vial to coat his fingers. “You’re to tell me if it hurts,” he instructed, leaning down to lay a kiss on Q’s stomach, at the same time pressing one finger back against Q’s hole.

Q gasped, as much from the chill of the slick as from the unexpected touch Bond guessed, but nodded all the same. “You won’t–” Q’s voice trailed off in a brief whine when Bond began to circle his finger, warming the slick and giving Q a chance to adjust to the feeling, “won’t hurt me.”

The words were assured; Q had faith in them, and it warmed Bond as much as the lust bubbling at his core. He had no soft words to offer in return, and instead pushed his finger into Q, stopping at the first knuckle and twisting. The motion garnered a startled breath from Q, a little  _ hah _ that still somehow communicated his want.

When Bond made to pull his finger back, Q’s hips followed him, his hole clenching around the tip of Bond’s finger, a silent beg for more, not less, and Bond couldn’t but oblige. He pushed in further, sinking all the way when he met little resistance.

“Gods, look at you,” Bond murmured against Q’s hip, taking a moment to scrape his teeth across the sharp line of bone. “Look how well you take it.”

For a moment, there was only a little moan to meet Bond’s words, before Q pushed back against Bond’s finger. “More. Just – something,  _ move, _ Bond. Please,” Q babbled.

Bond couldn’t have denied Q if he wanted to, and was rewarded with another sweet moan when he began to fuck his finger in and out of Q’s arse. “More, you said?” Bond asked, teasing at the edge of Q’s hole with a second finger.

“Yes,” Q squeezed down again, as if he could draw Bond in through sheer force of will, “yes, yes,  _ yesss.” _

The last word was drawn out, stretching it in pleasure as Bond pushed into him with two fingers, hooking at the edge of his hole and tugging gently. His legs were spread wide, wider than Bond would’ve guessed they could go, and he tucked away any further explorations of Q’s flexibility for another time. Instead, he leaned down and licked up the crease of Q’s thigh, latching his teeth onto the soft skin there and sucking. Above him, Q’s cock twitched and leaked with the sensation.

Though Bond doubted Q would entertain possessiveness in any way, he couldn’t help but look on the mark he’d made with pride; he wanted more, little claiming bruises that broadcasted how very much Q was  _ his _ . That he was the only one to see Q laid out on his bed, whimpering and writhing, prick hard and leaking, with a pair of fingers rubbing away at him from the inside.

Pushing deeper and twisting around, it was clear when Bond found that perfect little pleasure spot; Q jerked and swore, moaning high and loud as he humped back against Bond’s hand.

“Oh,” Q gasped, riding Bond’s fingers as he worried at that spot, “Oh, oh – oh,  _ stop.” _

Bond froze even before Q’s hand came down to curl around Bond’s wrist and still him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to – I’m gonna…” Q panted, looking down at Bond, eyes half glazed with pleasure but obviously trying for alertness. “If you wanted to… be inside, I mean…”

Ah. Bond smiled up at Q, a gentler thing this time. “We’ll have time later, if you want. You can let go, Q. Lie back and enjoy,” Bond told him, his smile curling to a little lascivious edge that seemed to calm Q as much as it amused him.

Q flopped back against the pillows with a breathless little laugh. “Later, then. Promise me.”

“Well, if you insist,” Bond didn’t even manage to sound even halfway decently put-upon by the request, and was already reapplying himself to the task of making Q fall apart as he spoke, “I promise.”

“Good. Very…  _ good _ …” Q left off with a groan, any thoughts beyond Bond’s hands on him apparently lost.

It wasn’t long at all before Bond had Q right back at the threshold of orgasm, mindlessly rutting down on Bond’s fingers, his head thrown back against the pillow, lips forming soundless words and wordless sounds, and Bond for a moment couldn’t decide if he wanted to taste the pleasure on the tip of Q’s tongue or on the tip of – well.

A moment’s indecision led Bond to choose the latter, and he leaned up to take the head of Q’s cock into his mouth, deeply gratified when Q came with a shocked wail of,  _ “James!” _

Bond swallowed once before pulling back to allow the last of Q’s spend to hit his stomach, stroking him through it inside and out until Q was shivering with oversensitivity.

“You… that…” Q panted, attempting to speak before he’d quite regained his bearings and eventually just tugging on Bond’s shoulders until he got the message and moved up Q’s body for a kiss.

It was a sloppy sort of kiss, more tongues than lips and every bit as heated as if Q were still seeking his own release; as it was, it was only Bond who was thrusting hard against Q’s hip, more than eager after having every sort of stimuli but touch.

Q mumbled something against Bond’s mouth that Bond managed to translate as “Can I?” when Q’s fingers skirted the edges of Bond’s pants. In answer, Bond shoved the pants down and wrapped his own hand over Q’s, showing him just how to handle him.

“Say it again,” Bond rasped, thrusting into the vice of his and Q’s combined grip. “My name, say it again.”

“James?” It came out as more of a question, but the little noise it pushed out of Bond was undeniable, so Q did it again.  _ “James.” _

Between the heat of Q’s palm against his cock and the rumbling drawl of Q’s voice in his ear, Bond knew he wouldn’t last. He pulled his own hand away only long enough to grope around for the vial of lubricant and drizzle it over himself, easing Q’s grip until it was gliding wet and tight along Bond’s prick. It was hardly his most impressive performance, Bond supposed, and yet Q was practically starry-eyed, looking on Bond as though he was the most attractive, most wonderful thing Q had ever seen.

“Come on,” Q coaxed. “Let me see you, James.”

That was it. Bond turned his head to stifle his sound in Q’s shoulder, coming over Q’s belly and their joined hands with a deep groan.

Spent and breathless, Bond dropped to his side, careful to avoid putting much more weight on Q than would have been welcome, and took a moment to regain himself. When he managed to open his eyes, it was to the sight of Q bringing a finger to his mouth to lick it clean with a look of curiosity, and Bond groaned again. “Must you, Q?”

Flushing, Q pulled his finger from his mouth with a pop. “You’re not the only one who wonders about taste,” he muttered.

Bond shook his head, pressing a fond kiss into Q’s shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Well, not yet, hopefully. You did make a promise, after all,” Q reminded him with the start of a grin.

“So I did,” Bond chuckled.

“And I intend to hold you to it,” Q concluded, almost primly.

“I’ve no doubt. Now we’ve taken the edge off, though, we can take it slowly. Make sure you feel  _ everything.” _ Bond watched with satisfaction as a visible shiver ran up Q’s spine. “Sound agreeable?”

Without, apparently, anything further to add, Q nodded quickly and tugged Bond in for another kiss. Heedless of the mess still cooling on Q’s stomach, Bond pressed in closer and reached up to cup Q’s jaw, slowing the kiss. The night was far from over, after all – they had time.

-/-/-

There was something tickling Bond’s nose.

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but darkness for a moment, and he realized whatever was tickling his nose was also blocking his vision. Pulling back, a bit, Bond found that sometime in the night, Q had gone from pressed into his side to curled in his arms and Bond had managed to bury his face in Q’s hair. He was a little surprised he hadn’t suffocated.

Gently, Bond resettled himself so that he wasn’t plastered right up against Q, but was loath to go too far, and kept a hand resting on Q’s waist. There was still a faint glow cast over the space by the globe light, but the narrow gap in the curtains shielding the bed from the rest of the room showed only darkness; apparently it hadn’t been all that long since they’d exhausted themselves and curled up beneath the blankets to sleep.

In the dim light, Bond idly inspected his bed partner, gratified to see the bruises he’d sucked onto Q’s chest and collarbone were well visible above the blankets; Q  _ didn’t _ entertain possessiveness, as Bond expected, but he’d adored the sharp feeling of Bond’s mouth on him all the same, and had protested the marks with only an eye-roll when he caught Bond’s covetous stare on them. Q’s hair was more of a mess than Bond had ever seen it, tossed against the pillow and bunched in Bond’s hands as it had been, his lips were still kiss-darkened and tender-looking, and he seemed to be sleeping the sleep of the truly weary.

As he had every right to, Bond supposed smugly.

The bed itself was a riotous mess of pillows and blankets and clothing, all discarded and shoved around to suit their needs and giving the appearance of a very soft sort of nest. Set into the wall above the bed, a shelf held the globe light, Q’s spectacles and, Bond noticed for the first time, Q’s charm-key.

Bond had barely even noticed Q removing the thing, much more intent on getting the more obstructive articles of Q’s clothing off his person. There it was, though, perfectly within Bond’s reach while Q slept like the dead beside him.

Under any normal circumstances, this would have been Bond’s cue to grab the key, sneak into Q’s workshop, and take what he’d been sent for. And yet – well.

Well, obviously Bond wasn’t going to do that. He’d stopped entertaining notions of it weeks ago, and had given his word to that effect – and as far as he was able, Bond always kept his word. Bond wasn’t even particularly surprised he felt no urge to complete his original mission; he’d known he was compromised the moment his priorities shifted from acquiring Q’s work to keeping Q safe. The only surprise was in that Bond hadn’t realized how deeply he’d been compromised until just now.

He was beyond compromised. He was in love.

It was, in hindsight, something he should have realized even earlier in the evening, perhaps when Q was curling into him to sleep and murmuring “Good night, James,” and Bond was mouthing the words back with his lips pressed into Q’s hair, “Good night, Henry.”

Rather intimate, that.

It was written in a hundred moments before that, too, Bond knew. Little things and big, he should’ve realized how deeply he’d fallen, but found it hard to care. Found it even harder to care when Q stirred beside him, turned without even opening his eyes and pressed his face into the crook of Bond’s neck with an indistinct mutter that sounded a bit like “Go back to sleep.”

If Bond was in love, it was hard to deny that Q was, too.

And, in any case, it wasn’t something to worry about at whatever godsforsaken hour of the night it was, while in the bed of a handsome man Bond cared quite a lot for. Instead, he wrapped his arms around said man, pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, and got comfortable. If it was to be a problem, it would be a problem for daylight.

Bond closed his eyes, and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three down, one to go!
> 
> As ever, come visit me on [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/) if you'd like!


	4. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing can last forever; Bond and Q both know this well. They just hadn't expected the next leg of their journey together to start so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! Hopefully a satisfying enough conclusion to those of you who have been reading along and speculating about what terrible things I'm going to visit on Bond and Q. Speaking of, thank you to everyone who's been reading along as I posted! Your comments and kudos have been so wonderful, and I've loved seeing every single one of them!
> 
> A little more nsfw in this chapter. If you want to skip it, probably stop at "At last, Bond exited the tub" and pick up after the scene break
> 
> Thank you again, also, to [castillon02](https://castillon02.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this story, it was made so much better by your work

A week passed in the sunny, pleasant way of many new couples tangled up in one another.

Conversely, the weather seemed to grow only more disagreeable as autumn tumbled on, but Q’s house was kept perpetually warm with a fire in the hearth and the body heat of two cats who seemed to find this new development between Bond and Q very agreeable.

(“They seem to think it’s put me in a better mood,” Q had explained as Crux purred away on his shoulders while Cassi situated herself primly on Bond’s lap.

“They may be onto something,” Bond had replied, watching Q move about his workshop with something perilously close to a spring in his step.)

Bond unashamedly used the weather as an excuse to spend longer and longer stretches of time with Q, staying the night almost every evening and keeping Q in bed much later into the morning than either of them were accustomed to rising. No one in town much seemed to care either way, inappropriate though it might have been for the two of them to pass their nights together outside of marriage, whether because the remote little town was less concerned with propriety as a whole or because this was simply the mage—who was already quite odd—Bond couldn’t have said for sure.

It was only Alice who inquired slyly about Q’s wellbeing when Bond had managed to spend an evening in his own room at the inn, and Bond informed her that Q was quite well, thank you.

She still tittered as she carried off his empty breakfast dishes, but there wasn’t much harm done, Bond supposed.

No more mention was made of Bond’s nebulous time of departure—whether he would or wouldn’t, when he would, and if, perhaps, Q might accompany him—but there was a marked increase in the number of questions Q asked about Umbravia. He seemed to have a renewed interest in life there, in Bond’s responsibilities, in the role of the royal wizard, and seemed unfailingly captivated with Bond’s answers.

It was hopeful.

But it couldn’t last forever.

The mood came crashing down around them when Bond was woken one morning by Q sitting straight up in bed and announcing, “Something isn’t right.”

Bond was slower to sit up, a steady counterpoint to Q’s singing anxiety even as he flashed back to the housefire and its aftermath. “What isn’t right?”

Q shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know.”

“Something in town?” Bond prodded, “Is someone in danger?”

“I don’t–” Q ran a frustrated hand over his face, “I don’t  _ know!” _

“Okay. Alright, it’ll be alright,” Bond soothed, running a hand up and down Q’s back, using his other hand to pry Q’s own from where it was digging fitfully in under his eyes.

Q only made a moody noise in response, but allowed himself to be briefly coddled.

“We’ll go into town first thing and check it out, if you want.”

“I don’t… it’s not happened yet. I don’t think.” Q squinched his eyes shut, his fingers twitching in Bond’s grip, “I can’t quite tell, but… not yet. Maybe.”

“You’ll feel better if we check on things in town anyway,” Bond told him, feeling the statement as fact, and feeling vindicated when Q sighed and nodded.

“Let me get dressed.”

“Oh, so soon?” Bond pursed his lips in the most obvious pout he could muster, running a regretful glance over all the bare skin Q revealed when he extricated himself from the blankets. “Shame.”

Q rolled his eyes, but seemed a little less weighed down as he moved to the wardrobe to dress.

-/-/-

A thorough investigation of the town yielded nothing more than usual, day-to-day messes; there was nothing to indicate the oncoming trouble Q was itching with, and it left him all the more restless when they returned to his home.

Q spent the better part of the afternoon flitting about the house, taking things out and tidying them away again, starting work and leaving it lying on his work table, and calling out periodically for the cats. Crux and Cassi kept dutiful watch around the perimeter of the clearing, reporting to Q that there was nothing amiss and trailing him around the house to jump in his lap anytime he sat down, in an apparent effort to keep him still. It didn’t work, but he gave them each a distracted handful of pets for their trouble before he dislodged them and was off again.

Bond himself was on edge just watching Q, and had been sitting with his sword at his side all day. Though he wasn’t altogether sure a sword would solve whatever potential danger was setting Q off, it made Bond feel better to have it at the ready; he otherwise wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself until Q seemed to start sagging under the weight of his own nervous energy sometime in the evening.

“Q.” Bond stood to join Q by the cabinet of elixirs he was busily rearranging.

“What?” Q asked, distracted.

“It’s time to take a break. Let’s have dinner,” Bond coaxed, rubbing a hand over Q’s shoulder.

“Not hungry.” Q shook his head. “You go ahead.”

“You need to eat something, Q. Whatever’s going to happen, you’ll be no good if you stay worked up like this,” Bond insisted.

“In a little bit, maybe. Just– let me finish this.” Q gestured to the cabinet, pulling out the smoke-liquid vial of whatever it was he’d made from the Storm’s Breath some weeks ago and placing it at the front.

Reaching over, Bond stilled Q’s hand, finally earning Q’s full attention. “Take a break, Q. I doubt if rearranging your potions is going to do much in the long run.”

“Well I don’t know what else to  _ do,” _ Q snapped, shutting the cabinet with a bang, “I don’t – I don’t know what’s coming, just that it  _ is, _ and I don’t know what to do!”

With one of Q’s hands still trapped in his, Bond ran his thumb over Q’s wrist and gently coaxed his fist into unclenching. “Try to be calm,” Bond told him. “Save your energy.”

Q pursed his lips, staring down at their joined hands. “It’s never like this. Usually, I get the feeling and then – then something happens, and that’s it. It’s never just this… looming  _ thing. _ I don’t know…”

“Come eat dinner, Q. We’ll face whatever it is when it comes.”

Sighing, Q allowed himself to be led from the workshop. “You know, you don’t have to–”

Bond shut the idea down before it could be fully realized. “If you’re about to tell me I don’t have to be here with you, you’re far more foolish than I thought.”

Q said nothing in response, but put up no resistance when Bond nudged him toward a stool at the kitchen table and began to pull out fixings for supper. Bond nodded to himself; whatever was going to happen, they would face it together – and on a full stomach.

-/-/-

Dinner was a quiet affair, and Bond managed to get Q to settle with him in the reading nook afterwards. Though they both sat on cushions, leaning into one another with books on their laps; sword and staff were both within grabbing distance, giving the scene a twist of battle-readiness that had underscored most of the evening.

More autumn rain had begun to fall outside, the sound of it tapping against the roof and windows the only thing breaking the silence aside from Crux’s purring where he sat atop one of the bookshelves, ostensibly ready to warn Q if Cassi saw anything strange outside. It was an altogether soothing set of noises, and Bond could feel Q beginning to sink further into his side, tension leeching away with the time. Bond himself felt settled enough to focus on his book, despite the underlying concern about Q’s warning of an ominous something to come.

Bond wondered if, maybe, it could have been a false alarm when Q went stiff at his side.

“James,” he said.

Crux jerked and leapt from the bookcase with a loud yowl.

Something in the workshop exploded.

Q was already on his feet, staff in hand, and Bond was right behind him with his sword at the ready.

There was a gaping hole in the wall of the workshop, immediately visible when Q wrenched the door open, and a figure stood in the middle of the wreckage, briefly silhouetted by a flash of lightning. A motion from Q lit the room, revealing a man in what was unmistakably a mage’s cloak. His face was bared, revealing tan skin and determined features, and though Bond didn’t recognize him, Q’s sharp gasp indicated that he did.

“Patrice,” Q growled.

“Q,” the intruding mage nodded. “Your master sends his regards.”

“He is not–” Q snarled, but cut off when Patrice raised a hand above his head, holding – not a stick, Bond realized, but a wand, and slashed it down through the air at them.

Q’s response was quick, pulling up a barrier that blocked Patrice’s attack and knocked all three of them off their feet with the resulting crash of energy. The air left Bond’s lungs in a breathless whoosh as he landed on the floor, for a moment only aware enough to try to regain it.

Finally able to suck in a few strained gasps of air, Bond turned to find Q had landed not far from him, sprawled awkwardly and unmoving on the floor. It was instinct to go to him immediately, assess him for damage, care for him – but it was a much stronger instinct to roll and lunge for his fallen sword when an aggrieved shout came from the other side of the room.

Bond rolled to his feet, weapon at the ready, and saw Patrice carving his wand through the air before him but only producing sparks for his effort. Whatever Q had conjured up to counter Patrice’s attack had rendered the wand at least temporarily useless, though clearly not its wielder – Patrice was already drawing a dagger from his robes, wickedly sharp and likely augmented in some way with magic.

Bond stepped forward, putting distance between Q’s prone body and the oncoming fight, and prepared himself. Though Patrice had brought a knife to a swordfight, Bond couldn’t say he’d fought a mage in close combat before. His experience with magic in battle was largely isolated to taking shots at magic-users from afar – when in doubt, shoot the wizard. Here, he had no idea what to expect.

But before they could engage, a sharp creaking and clanking caught the attention of both men – the suit of armor, which Bond never had been able to catch in motion, had sprung to life in its corner and was placing itself between Bond and Patrice with a speed disconcerting to see in something so unwieldy.

The sight didn’t deter Patrice for long, and he took a lunge at the armor with his knife flashing in the light. The armor met his attack, blades clashing, and held him there for enough time that Bond caught an opening and landed a glancing blow on Patrice’s side.

Shouting with shock and pain, Patrice lashed out with his blade, meeting the armor’s chest plate and punching right through with a piercing shriek of metal. Patrice twisted the knife and the armor juddered with a pulse of light before falling, lifeless, with an almighty clanging. Bond was fairly certain it was smoking slightly, and redoubled his effort to evade Patrice’s attacks; he had absolutely no desire to find out what that blade would do to human flesh.

Patrice was a fierce fighter, coming at Bond with a determination verging on desperation; Bond could only begin to guess what his goals were, but was sure they spelled nothing good for Q – and nothing good for him as Q’s self-appointed protector, certainly. He dodged and parried blows, careful to neither gain nor lose too much ground; the workshop was one big circle, and too many steps in either direction would bring them right back to where Q was lying.

Perhaps it had been too long since he’d sparred with anyone other than Q, or perhaps his infatuation with Q was a far greater distraction than he’d thought, but when Bond caught sight of movement in Q’s direction—a shift, a flash of familiar blue light—his attention was diverted and, however short a time it was, he paid for the distraction. Patrice’s blade came at him, too wide to catch anything vital, but scoring a deep and painful line across Bond’s shoulder.

Bond gasped.

Gods, but it  _ hurt _ .

Bond had seen more than his fair share of blades, had scars to prove his triumph over meeting them, but this was unlike anything he’d felt before. It was as though someone had sliced him open and shoved ice into his wound, letting the cold of it seep through his muscle and into his very bones. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think at all, barely aware of his sword falling from his grasp and onto the floor, where Bond shortly joined it on his knees, clutching at his wound as if he could exorcise the burning cold with his own hand.

Hazily, Bond realized Patrice was standing over him, blade raised, and though he made an effort to reach for his sword, his fingers barely twitched. He couldn’t even tear his other hand from where he was grasping at the bleeding gash. His body refused to obey. He was going to die, he realized, and yet could barely accept the notion past the frozen pain of his wound. His shoulder throbbed, bled, and Bond waited for the blow he expected he might not even feel – only to be startled in his vague haze by a bright flash.

When Bond managed to turn his head upwards, Q was there, standing before him, eyes wild and mouth pulled into a snarl. He said something Bond didn’t quite understand, and he wondered if it was simply the fog of pain and whatever curse had bled into him through the knife or if Q was speaking his magic, as Q was now raising his arm, holding something aloft – the vial of smoke-liquid-dark potion he’d made of the flowers, Bond realized.

Q threw it, sending it to crash to the floor at Patrice’s feet, where Q had pushed him back. The vial broke with a sound like thunder, Q’s voice rising above the sound with more words Bond couldn’t understand, and Patrice’s voice rising above that with a shriek before – he froze.

Entirely and utterly, Patrice was frozen, a statue of flesh and bone.

Bond opened his mouth, to ask what Q had done, maybe, but all that came out was a shuddering, wheezing gasp that brought Q’s attention to him immediately.

“Shitting hell,” Q muttered, hands fluttering for a moment around Bond’s wound before he was up and rummaging in the cabinet.

In short order, Bond found a bottle pressed to his lips, tipping upward. “Drink,” Q ordered, and Bond did his best to obey.

The elixir that came from the bottle burned him, clinging to his lips and tongue like oil, stinging and searing as it slid down his throat, causing him to choke. He jerked, a primal urge to pull back from what was causing him pain, but Q had a hand on the back of his neck and held him fast. “I know it hurts, I know it does, but you need to drink it.” Q’s face, pinched with worry, swam before Bond’s eyes. “Come on, all of it, please.”

Bond tried.

Slowly, the fire of the elixir burned down through him, combatting the ice of his wound, easing its grip on his muscles and bones until he found himself able to move again, able to breathe freely, to pull his hand from his shoulder and transfer his grip to Q’s arm regardless of the bloodstains he knew he was leaving.

“There you are.” Q’s smile was all relief when he finally took the empty bottle away, stroking at the side of Bond’s face with the hand that had been restraining him. “That’s better.”

Though it wasn’t quite a question, Bond nodded anyway, testing the flex of his arm; his shoulder still burned, but it was a manageable pain. Q leaned in and pressed one grateful kiss to his forehead. “And you said rearranging my potions wouldn’t help anything,” he murmured into Bond’s skin.

Bond gave a thick laugh, voice rusty. “Forgive my doubt,” he croaked.

Before either of them could fall too deeply into relieved contentment, Bond spotted Patrice, still caught and frozen behind Q. “What did you do to him?” Bond asked.

“He’s stuck,” Q answered, turning back to look at the statue of a man, “Not dead, but… caught. He doesn’t breathe and his heart doesn’t beat, but his body will remain as it is as long as the elixir lasts.”

“And how long will it last?” Bond didn’t fancy another round with Patrice so soon.

“Should be until I undo it.” Q stood from the floor and offered a hand to help Bond do the same; Bond’s legs shook for a moment, but he steadied quickly.

“Should be?” Bond cocked an eyebrow, glancing back over at Patrice.

“Well, I’ve never used it on a human being before, but it’s powerful stuff. It’ll hold,” Q said. “Let’s patch you up. Then we’ll deal with our guest.”

Though still wary, Bond allowed Q to strip him of his shirt and perform a rough cleaning of his gash—not as deep as he’d have expected, given all the pain it caused—before applying a salve and tying and awkward bandage over the lot. He was finishing the task when the sound of a cat’s chirrup met their ears; both turned to see the pale smudge of Crux’s fur in the dark night visible through the hole that had been blasted through the workshop wall.

Crux let out another warbling noise and Q sighed, perhaps a little less tense for it. “Stay with her,” he said to Crux, and the cat disappeared back into the night.

“Cassi?” Bond asked.

“Stunned, but she’s alright. A little…” Q waved his hand vaguely around his head, “woozy. She’s safer staying out there. Crux will keep watch.”

Bond nodded, set to retrieve a fresh shirt from the few items of his that had accumulated at Q’s house over the last week, only for Q to place a hand on his arm and hold out the salve with something like a sheepish look.

“Would you…?” He trailed off, turning around until Bond could see the bloody mat of hair at the back of his head.

“Gods on high, Q,” Bond growled, though his hands stayed gentle when he probed against Q’s scalp, “why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I was rather more concerned with keeping you alive. A bump on the head didn’t seem to be a priority.” Q hissed when Bond found the knot where Q’s head must have met the floor. “I’ve just got a truly excellent headache now. The salve will help.”

“Cleaning this out would help more,” Bond grumbled, though he would admit that his shoulder was already feeling the benefits of whatever it was Q had put in the salve.

“Later.” Q’s voice went tight with discomfort as Bond spread the salve over the bump and split in Q’s scalp, gentle as he could be.

It made a dreadful mess of Q’s hair, the thick salve sticking strands together and mingling with the blood already matting part of it down, but it was the best they could do for the moment. Q absently pocketed the tin of salve when Bond returned it to him and was fiddling with a length of rope by the time Bond had found himself a shirt.

“Is there anything you don’t have in here?” Bond asked, joining Q beside the statue of Patrice.

“Unlikely,” Q smirked, holding out the rope. “I hope you’re good with knots.”

It felt rather like tying up someone freshly dead, Bond reflected as he secured Patrice’s arms tightly behind his back; his skin was warm and his flesh yielded beneath Bond’s hands, but there was no pulse – no sign of life beneath the body warmth. Q helped nudge Patrice into position, moving him as though he were a sort of large doll, and soon they had him kneeling and trussed on the floor; he’d have been unable to move even if he hadn’t been frozen by the elixir.

They armed themselves once more, Q with his staff and Bond with his sword, and stood before Patrice. “Ready?” Q asked, already reaching out to press his hand to Patrice’s forehead.

Bond nodded, and Q uttered a string of words that melted the stillness from their captive.

Patrice jerked in his bonds, testing them and finding no give, before slumping back down. His breathing had gone heavy, as if he was under strain. Distantly, Bond wondered if the elixir had pained him, or if it was the blow Bond had landed on his side.

“Why are you here?” Q dove straight in to his interrogation, voice gone hard.

Patrice only shook his head and jerked with wince.

“There are only two reasons he would have sent you,” Q continued. “Are you here to kill me or collect me?”

Stubbornly, Patrice said nothing. He looked pale.

Q’s frown deepened. “How did you know where to find me?”

Still there were no answers, and Q shifted his grip on his staff; it sparked with magic, causing Q’s cloak to rustle with the residual energy. “I studied under him for years. You know what I’m capable of, Patrice. One way or another, I will have my answers.”

The threat was almost surprising to Bond; he’d agreed to allow Q to take the lead in questioning the intruding assassin, but he hadn’t been altogether sure what to expect. Bond had learned his own unsavory interrogation methods over the years, but he wondered what Q’s might be.

Patrice let out a strangled bark of laughter. “You learned his tricks, little mage, but you didn’t inherit his cruelty. Whatever you do to me, his punishment will be one thousand times worse.”

Q took an abortive half step forward, halted by Bond’s hand on his arm; he opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short as Patrice jerked again. It wasn’t the twist and tug of a man trying to free himself, but the lurching of muscles when one was in pain.

“What’s wrong with you? What are you doing?” Q demanded, voice rising in alarm when Patrice began to seize, still somehow on his knees before them.

Patrice opened his mouth, but no answer came forth; instead, his jaw continued well past its natural point, until Bond could hear it cracking. It hung open grotesquely, though Patrice made no noise of pain. His voice seemed caught, and the only noise coming from him was the labored wheeze of his breath. The lights had begun to flicker, and Q had passed from alarm straight to panic.

“No,” Q gasped, stumbling backwards into Bond, forcing him back as well. “No, no, no!”

“What’s happening?” Bond barked. “Q, what’s going on?”

In front of them, Patrice’s straightened abruptly, kneeling with his back held rigid, his head turned upwards. His eyes, filled with silent hysteria, went blank and begun to roll back and further back, until only the whites were visible.

Beside Bond, Q managed a single word: “Possession.”

A voice came from Patrice, emanating from his mouth, but it was not his own. “Hello, clever boy,” the voice said.

Q shivered. “Silva.”

The voice gave a bizarre little chuckle. Patrice’s jaw never moved, still gaping disturbingly wide. “You have learned some new tricks. I remember a time when you could never beat our Patrice in a duel, and here I find my failsafe has become necessary.”

This, Bond realized, was the voice of Q’s former master, speaking to them through another man as though he was no more than a puppet. Even from what little Bond knew of magic, he recognized the act as a violation, and felt it down to his core as Q himself surely did.

“What do you want, Silva?” Q’s voice had taken on a vicious edge it hadn’t had with Patrice, something that spoke of a deep repulsion and anger.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, it does not suit you.” Silva’s voice still came out amused. “I want you, as I always have.”

Bond could feel another shiver track down Q’s body, pressed close as he was, but he stood firm.

“How did you know where to find me?” Q asked.

The sound of Silva clicking his tongue reached them. “Dear boy, I have been watching you for ages.”

The declaration seemed to knock the fight very suddenly from Q. “You– what?”

“I sculpted you, clever boy, did you think I wouldn’t know how to find you?” Silva’s voice rang with mirth. “But you were harmless, and I saw no reason to come for you just then.”

Q swallowed. “Why? Why now?”

“Because of him.” Patrice’s body twitched in Bond’s direction. “Good Sir Bond. His appearance forced my hand.”

“What are you talking about?” Bond snapped, shifting his grip on his sword, “I didn’t even know who you were.”

“Ah, but you changed the game.” Silva sounded more interested than amused now; intrigued by something he hadn’t quite expected. “I thought Sir Bond would scare you off, my Q, but instead… you let him in.”

“I…” Q attempted to speak.

Silva’s voice rode over him. “And you let him in, and let him in. You go about town with him, have meals with him – I hear he has not stayed at his room for close to a week now. Did you take him to your bed? Did you let him lay you down like a sweet little boy, let him fuck you?”

“Shut up!” Q snarled, the globe of his staff pulsing with new energy, stirring the air around them.

“You have fallen in love.” Silva’s voice rose. “You were going to let Sir Bond steal you away to the capital, and I could not have that. Here, you are harmless; there, not so much. So I have intervened.”

“You’ve failed,” Q told him. “You know this spell damages your host beyond help. Patrice is useless to you, and I’ll be gone before you can send anyone else.”

“But I notice you have secured Patrice inside your workshop. This is very helpful to me, but for you…” Silva was clucking his tongue again, “Perhaps you are not such a clever boy.”

“What…?” Q glanced back at Bond, who felt even more in the dark than Q likely did and was very on edge for it.

“Good bye, Q.” Silva’s voice faded, and Patrice’s body dropped to the floor, a puppet with cut strings.

There was silence for a moment. “Q?” Bond ventured, reaching out to place his free hand on Q’s arm.

Q didn’t look over, his eyes instead glued to Patrice. “Bond–” he began, only to be cut off by a sudden shriek, long and drawn-out and communicating so much wordless pain that it made Bond shiver in spite of himself.

Patrice had arched up off the floor, still shrieking and – glowing?

“Get out!” Q ordered, grabbing at Bond’s arm and yanking as he made for the hole in the workshop wall; he didn’t need to say it twice.

The sound of Patrice’s voice followed them out into the rain, ringing through the clearing, before the world erupted into flame.

-/-/-

For the second time that night, Bond found himself knocked prone, but was no more than dazed. Beside him, Q was already struggling to regain his footing in the mud.

The crackle and hiss of fire was unignorable behind him, and Bond heaved himself to his feet, quick to spot his sword gleaming on the wet ground and take it up. Bond turned to survey the damage to Q’s home and realized – there was nothing left.

The entire building had been taken over by eerie blue flames, climbing high into the night, burning brightly but putting off curiously little heat.

Q’s face was inscrutable in the flickering light, his spectacles reflecting the light of the flame, fingers clenched so tightly around his staff that Bond wondered if he had any feeling left in them at all.

Before Bond could say anything, do anything, the fire began to shrink. With a hiss and a snap, it very neatly put itself out, leaving absolutely nothing in its wake. No ash, no rubble, nothing. Q’s house and every trace of it was gone. There was only scorched earth to tell that anything had happened at all.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but steady shush of the rain, and then Q snapped back to himself.

“Crux!” He jerked around, holding his staff aloft to light the clearing. “Cassi!”

The answering meows from the edge of the woods soothed something tense in Bond’s chest he hadn’t realized it would, but it had nothing on the naked relief painted on Q’s face. He met Crux halfway across the clearing, allowing the cat to leap onto his shoulders before Cassi approached, slower and still a bit off-kilter, but alive and whole. Q scooped her up as well, pressing his face into her wet fur.

Bond allowed them the moment before approaching. “Q, we need to go.”

Q turned, unable to quite meet Bond’s eyes in the subdued light cast he was casting, “You don’t need to… If you’d rather we went our separate ways, I would understand.”

“If you think I’m leaving you now, you hit your head harder than I thought,” Bond snapped.

“I’m a danger, James. Raoul Silva is a man forsaken by the gods, with a network of spies and spells more insidious than you could imagine. And he’s after me.” Q shook his head. “This was only the beginning.”

“All the more reason to get you to Umbravia,” Bond insisted. “You heard him – if you go there, you’ll be a threat to him. He’ll have a hard time reaching you there.”

“James…”

“Besides, I’ve only just got you.” Bond stepped closer, pressing into Q’s space. “You think I’m going to let you go?”

“I…” Q looked up, at last fully meeting Bond’s gaze. “Alright.”

“Good,” Bond murmured, leaning in to press his lips to Q’s.

They were wet and muddy, cold and tired, beaten sore and thoroughly shaken, but they made their kiss a promise and held on until Cassi grumbled with discontent from where she was sandwiched between them.

Bond pulled back with a grim smirk. “We’re not in for a nice journey. The nearest town is a fair distance, and the nearest place to rest isn’t much closer.”

“Actually,” Q said, “I think I know a shortcut.”

“Do you?” Bond cocked an eyebrow.

Q hummed in the affirmative. “A bit off the beaten path, but I think that’s exactly what we need right now.”

“Where is this wonderful shortcut of yours, then?” Bond wasn’t altogether sure he liked the glint in Q’s eyes.

Q smirked. “Through fae territory. Where else?”

-/-/-

They made a sorry procession, two bedraggled men and a soaked cat picking their way through the forest by the light of Q’s staff. Q led the way, Cassi tucked beneath his cloak while she slept off the effects of whatever Patrice had hit her with. Crux walked at Q’s heels, and Bond brought up the rear, careful to step where Q did in this unfamiliar territory.

“Just as well we’ll be passing through, I’ll need to have a word with the faeries anyway,” Q had said as they began their journey.

He needed to ensure the strength of the truce between the fae and the townspeople before he left the area, and supposed it would only be polite to let them know he was leaving, besides. Bond himself was a bit iffy on the idea of travelling through land claimed by faeries, but trusted Q’s assertion they could pass through unharmed – so long as Bond did exactly as Q said.

Only when familiarly luminescent greenery began to appear, illuminating flowers that bloomed in strange shapes and colors, did Q break the weary silence.

“What’s your favorite number?”

Bond frowned. “What?”

“Your favorite number. What is it?” Q reiterated.

“I don’t have one.” Bond shook his head; what kind of question was that to ask now?

“Then just pick a number, I don’t care what it is. Between – I don’t know, one and ten.” Q glanced back over his shoulder, showing Bond a perfectly serious expression.

“I – fine. Seven.” Bond shrugged.

“Hm. A lucky number.” Q sounded amused. “Suits you.”

“Why–” Bond’s question was cut off as Q stopped short, preventing Bond from moving any further.

Q turned to face Bond fully, the grim set of his mouth giving no room for question or argument. “From this point on, you are Seven. I am Q. You let me do the talking. Do not touch anything, do not accept any gifts, do not put anything in your mouth, and for all the Gods’ sake, do not say either of our names. Do you understand?”

Though a few of the rules were cause for a raised eyebrow, Bond nodded.  “I understand.”

Q favored Bond with a small, tired smile. “Onward, then.”

They walked on, and there was the sense of crossing over a line Bond couldn’t see; the feeling in the air changed so perceptibly that even Bond felt it. The rain, which they had only been partially protected from by the thickening trees as they walked deeper into the woods, stopped altogether; when Bond turned back, he could see it falling still, and yet felt or heard no rain over their heads.

Strange.

Unconcerned, or perhaps just accustomed, Q marched on, weaving a determined path around strange trees and other plants. Everything around them seemed familiar, but was shaped or colored just a bit – wrong. It was unsettling, and Bond found he was already eager to pass through this territory and be done with it.

Traveling further in, Bond became aware of a rustling of branches that he and Q were not creating. A quick glance confirmed that Crux was still at Q’s heels and not off causing noises in the underbrush. Somewhere, off the path, there were things keeping pace with them.

They were being followed.

“Q,” Bond said quietly, his hand travelling to the hilt of his sword.

“Ignore them. Hand on my shoulder,” Q instructed. “You’re safe with me.”

Though his right hand remained on his sword, Bond placed his left hand on Q’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “What is it?”

“They’re the denizens of this part of the forest. Faeries.”

Bond had never met a faerie, and had put rather little thought into whether or not he’d want to meet one until recently; the answer turned out to be that he was not keen on the idea.

“Why are they following us?”

“They’re interested. My visits are a curiosity, and I’ve brought someone new.”

They walked on a ways, Q following some indeterminate path through the trees and Bond following Q, until they reached the edge of a clearing. Over Q’s shoulder, Bond could see the open space populated by the strangest and most unsettling animals Bond had ever seen.

Each creature seemed to be a composite, put together from any number of different animals; there were stags with racoon tails, foxes with pheasant wings, wolves with the face of a rabbit, and some things Bond didn’t even recognize. Most disconcertingly, some had what seemed to be human hands or feet.

The entire clearing was in a sort of twilight, ringed by the glowing mushrooms that seemed so common in the area. Q stood at the very edge, back straight and head high, and spoke.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I have come to request an audience.”

The milling of the creatures stilled, and silence fell.

At last, a voice rang out to meet Q’s.

“It is granted.”

The voice was strange, giving the impression of several people speaking at once, a set of murmurs all coming out as one, and it set Bond’s teeth on edge.

“Don’t let go of me, no matter what,” Q said quietly.

Bond nodded. He allowed Q to lead the way into the clearing, until they stood before what was by far the strangest beast there.

It stared at them with round, golden eyes set into a very human face, on the head and body of a wolf, the legs of a deer, and the tail of fox. It had antlers and, as with every other creature present, was colored strangely. With a start, Bond realized he recognized the tail – it was the same color as the one that hung from Q’s belt.

_ It did grow back _ , he recalled Q telling him.

The fae of this forest were very strange, indeed.

“Q.” The beast—the faerie—inclined its head, speaking in that same, strange voice. “You have brought us a stranger.”

Q gave a dip of a bow in return, slowly, so as not to jar Bond’s hand from his shoulder. “He is my dear friend and companion. He saved my life this night, and will treat you with the respect you are due.”

The faerie hummed, a sound like the buzzing of bees coming from its throat as it turned its attention onto Bond. “What is your name, Warrior?” it asked him.

Uncertain, but unwilling to show it, Bond gave the same short bow Q had and introduced himself. “I am Seven.”

The faerie stared for a moment longer before giving a vulpine sort of yip; Bond had the impression that it was laughing. Beside Bond, Q seemed to relax just slightly.

“Seven. I see. And you must be tired, the both of you.” The faerie raised one foreleg, gesturing very much like a human might. “Please, have something to eat.”

On cue, a few more jumbled creatures melted from the shadows, bearing platters of sweets and fruits. It all looked very good, reminding Bond it had been hours since he last ate, and he had been thoroughly exerting himself in the meantime. The clearing of Q’s throat reminded Bond of the rules, however—do not put anything in your mouth (and what a strange specification Bond had thought it at the time)—and it was no true hardship to abstain from the treats laid about before them. Bond had gone longer without food, and had resisted greater temptation.

“You are kind, but we must decline,” Q said for the both of them. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I have come bearing unfortunate news.”

The swarming noise came again from the faerie, as the others stepped back with their platters. “Speak, then, Q. What makes you so grave?”

“My home has been destroyed, along with the tree I promised you I would protect. I apologize for my failure.” Q turned his head down again, nudging Bond’s foot with his own as Bond was about to open his mouth in defense; it hadn’t been Q’s fault at all, but that didn’t seem to matter at the moment.

In one of the first expressions Bond had seen from it, the faerie frowned, turning its face to the air and sniffing. “There is a stench of darker magic to you. That is not the sort of thing you practice.”

“It is not,” Q said firmly. “The man I have been running from – he’s caught up. I must leave this place. I don’t know for how long, but–”

“You will be leaving us?” the faerie interrupted.

“I must,” Q reiterated.

The faerie hummed. “You did us a great turn, Q. You saved this place from destruction, from the fools in the village. We remain grateful.”

“And I remain grateful for your continued peace with the village,” Q replied, a sneaky sort of confirmation that the faeries intended to hold up their part of the treaty.

“As long as they keep their respect for us, we will leave them be.” The faerie sounded almost bored now, waving its foreleg again. “You have our thanks and our favor, Q. Go. Take your Seven with you.”

“Thank you. I hope we will meet again someday.” Q gave another short bow, nudging Bond so that he did the same, then led the way from the clearing.

The further from the encounter they got, the less the trees around them rustled, many of the faeries seeming to lose interest as Bond and Q walked in silence. Even Crux, a vocal little thing, was holding his tongue.

It was Bond who finally broke the quiet, leaning in to murmur in Q’s ear. “The favor of the faeries. That’s nothing to sneeze at.”

“No,” Q mused, tucking Cassi more securely against his side, “it’s not.”

-/-/-

Traveling through fae territory was disconcerting. Coming out on the other side was even more so.

The rain was still falling when they came out from the twilit space the faeries had claimed, and the dark was as deep as it had been before they went in.

“How long were we in there?” Bond asked, dropping his hand from Q’s shoulder when it was indicated he could do so.

“Hard to say.” Q glanced up, as if the sky itself held an answer for him. “Can’t have been more than an hour, though.”

“An  _ hour?” _ Bond shook his head. “It had to be longer than that.”

Q shrugged. “I did say it was a shortcut. Time and space work differently around faeries.”

Bond frowned, glancing around at the path illuminated by Q’s staff. They certainly seemed to be on the edges of the forest by now, the trees fewer and farther between and the path less choked with bushes and roots – but the forest was quite large, Bond knew; it should have taken them longer than this to reach the other side. Still, as Bond glimpsed a road up ahead, he supposed he couldn’t complain.

“Where are we, then?” Bond asked as they approached.

“On the other side of the woods.” Q shrugged again, his posture heavier and more careless than Bond had seen it.

Bond himself was flagging, longing for a place to stop and rest, but knew it wasn’t yet safe. Not here in the open.

They walked along the road for a short time, quickly becoming soaked through once more and gathering an excessive amount of mud on their boots, until they came upon the lights of a tiny town. A familiar, tiny town.

This was the town he’d stopped at before reaching Q’s, Bond realized. It was at least a couple of days’ travel from Q’s town – it shouldn’t have been possible for them to reach it by walking just a few hours, and yet there it was.

“You can show me your shortcuts more often, if this is what it gets us,” Bond told Q, his voice pitched just above the spattering of the rain.

Q laughed, a short breath of a thing, and doused the light of his staff. “I expect you remember where the inn is?”

“Hard to miss.” Bond nodded towards the largest building on the street, one of the only ones with lights still lit at this hour.

“I suppose the real question is whether or not they’ll give us a room, looking the way we do,” Q sighed.

“Oh, I don’t imagine they’ll refuse a very important mage a room,” Bond said as they approached.

“I’m hardly a ‘very important’ mage, James,” Q muttered.

“Well, they don’t know that.” Bond shrugged.

-/-/-

With the suggestion of mysterious and important magely business (and a few extra coins), Bond and Q were shown to a room and given access to a washtub and some gloriously hot water to clean up with.

Q insisted on tending to the cats first, making sure all the muck was rinsed from Crux and that Cassi was properly warm and recovering from Patrice’s attack before allowing Bond to help him out of his own damp clothes and into the water. The shivers that had taken up somewhere in the woods and hadn’t seemed to cease since began to die down, and Q soaked for a short while as Bond carefully checked over the wound on the back of his head.

As promised, the salve had done good work, encouraging the split to close and the swelling to go down. Still, Bond was gentle as he rinsed Q’s hair, rubbing his fingers over the undamaged parts of Q’s scalp until Q was sighing with it. Before Bond’s hands could trail any further down Q’s body, Q insisted it was Bond’s turn to soak, rising and clambering out of the washtub to refresh the water.

Obediently, Bond stripped down and settled into the tub, allowing Q to prod gently at the wound on his shoulder and the few other hurts he’d picked up over the course of the night. There was quiet between them, an exhausted sort of contentment that flourished in the close, warm space. They were hardly out of danger, but the mind and body could only take so much; they would take their rest while they could.

Apparently satisfied with Bond’s state of healing, Q leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the skin of Bond’s shoulder, trailing a few up his neck until Bond reached up and redirected Q’s mouth to his own. The kiss was slow, a languid exchange of affection and reassurance— _ I’m here, I’m alright, it’s okay _ —that stoked an unhurried fire between them.

At last, Bond exited the tub, taking a moment to dry off before leading Q to the bed, lying back and pulling Q up on top of him. Clothes were too damp and muddy to be bothered with and would be seen to in the morning; for now, they lay bare atop the covers, pressing skin to skin and reveling in each other.

The kisses continued, morphing slowly from soft affection to sharp arousal, hands roaming everywhere, only half mindful of any lingering soreness from the night’s adventures. When Bond felt the brush of Q’s hardening cock low against his belly, he thrust up, rubbing his answering hardness up the crease of Q’s arse. Q groaned low in his chest and pushed back into the feeling.

They were hardly coordinated, exhausted and aching and growing more desperate to simply feel each other by the moment, unable to do much more than grope at each other, but in the end, it was really all they needed.

Q remained on top, straddling Bond’s hips, repositioning himself until he could fist both their pricks together, gasping at the sensation of Bond against him. Bond was reminded it hadn’t been long at all since he’d first taken Q to bed, and didn’t think he’d ever tire of how responsive Q was. He reached up and wrapped his own hand around Q’s, making the grip fuller, tighter. His other hand slid around to grab at Q’s arse, fingers digging into the cheek and urging Q to rut down harder against him.

It wasn’t long at all before Q was gasping into Bond’s collarbone, grabbing at his uninjured shoulder and whining when Bond twisted their hands together, slicking the way with the wetness of their combined arousal. “James…” Q all but moaned, licking distracted kisses up the side of Bond’s neck.

In truth, Bond wasn’t far behind Q, was chasing his orgasm just as urgently, but was determined to watch Q fall apart above him before he came. His hand tripped up the bumps of Q’s spine and came to rest on the back of his neck, squeezing gently. “Come on, Q,” Bond murmured, turning and catching the tip of Q’s ear with his lips, nipping with the edge of his teeth. “Let go, darling.”

With a sweet jumble of noise, Q did, pressing his face into the crook of Bond’s neck as he came, hips twitching and slicking Bond’s belly and both their hands. Wet now with Q’s release, Bond kept tugging their hands, feeling more than hearing Q gasp against his skin, until he came with a rough groan.

They lay together for a short while after, Q a heavy but reassuring weight over Bond, waiting for their breath to even while their mess cooled between them. Bond nosed into the soft hair at Q’s temple, still a bit damp from the bath, murmuring nonsense declarations that even he wasn’t quite following.

_ I’m here, I’ll keep you safe, I love you. _

-/-/-

At last, they were cleaned up and curled beneath the blankets, legs tangled together, with Q resting half against Bond’s chest and both cats nested at the end of the bed. Bond was sitting just at the edge of sleep when he felt Q shaking against him. It was a subtle thing at first, a shiver that might have been passed off as a chill, but it ramped up until Bond could call it nothing but sobbing, the frantic tremble of someone broken.

Uncertain of what else to do, Bond stroked Q’s hair, gentle over the healing wound on the back of his head, and let Q hold him tightly. He didn’t bother with the inanities of hushing, of insisting it was alright – it wasn’t, really, and Bond would let Q process that however he needed to.

“He– he’s always  _ known,” _ Q choked, drawing in another sob of air, “I– I don’t – what do I do now?”

“Rest,” Bond told him. “We can plan when we’ve slept.”

Q said nothing in return, but remained pressed against Bond until the panic and sorrow subsided, until the shaking died down, until his breathing evened out and Bond was certain he must have fallen asleep.

Not long after, Bond joined him.

-/-/-

They slept straight through the morning, waking to a watery, grey afternoon.

There was no sign of the Q of the night before; he stood steady and calm now, even as he frowned over their clothing.

“I’ve always been a bit rubbish at cleaning magic,” Q admitted, giving their muddy things a shake. “Prefer to do it by hand. Suppose that’s not an option right now, though.”

“As long as they’re dry, I won’t complain.” Bond watched as the mud seemed to melt off the pair of trousers Q was holding, leaving them with a somewhat unsightly stain, but otherwise clean.  “We’ll be able to pick up things more suitable to travelling in town.”

They dressed quietly, gathering what little they’d brought with them: Bond’s sword, Q’s staff, a few charms and the salve, what hopefully amounted to enough coin between the two of them to buy enough supplies to make their trip bearable, and Bond’s enchanted mirror. Bond dared not use it, not until they could be certain where Silva was getting his information, but he wouldn’t let it fall into unsavory hands, and Q had blanched at the suggestion of breaking it, so it was settled more or less securely into Bond’s belt pouch.

“Ready?” Bond asked once they’d set themselves to rights.

For a moment, it seemed almost as though Q hadn’t heard him, appearing lost in thought before he snapped to attention. “I want you to know, I don’t regret this,” Q told him, a fervent sort of seriousness lining his face. “I don’t regret inviting you in for even a moment. I need you to know.”

Bond regarded Q, taking in the determined line of his body, the fierce set of his expression, and the intangible softness sitting somewhere behind his eyes as he watched Bond watching him, and smiled. Bond reached up, cupping Q’s jaw and drawing him in close.

“I know, Q,” Bond murmured, pressing his lips to Q’s.

Q responded with ardor, pulling Bond in close to him, pouring everything into the kiss before they broke apart, both drawing breath.

“Even though you did break into my workshop,” Q muttered up at him, as if continuing a thought.

Bond nearly bumped heads with Q at the sudden laughter that shook his frame.

With a smile, Q leaned in and gave Bond one more quick peck before stepping back to straighten his cloak. “Ready to go, then?”

“Perfectly.” Bond nodded, sweeping the door open and stepping to the side. “After you.”

“Watching my back, Sir Bond?” Q smirked, stepping through with Crux and Cassi on his heels.

“Hardly,” Bond retorted with a faint smile. “I’m staying behind you, where it’s safe.”

Q nodded, looking every bit the regal, aloof mage that he presented to the world, with an amusement in his eyes that he showed only to Bond. “And don’t you forget it.”

With a smirk, Bond followed along behind. “Unlikely, Q. Very unlikely.”

It wasn’t a terribly long trip from there to Umbravia, but it hardly felt like the last leg of their journey as they stepped out into cool autumn air. Their troubles would meet no easy end at the city gates, and there were yet more obstacles to be overcome. Still, as Bond drew even with Q while they walked, letting the backs of their hands brush together until, face still a cool façade, Q tangled his fingers with Bond’s, he knew they would face it all together.

And that, Bond decided, was an excellent start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I swear I have ideas for the next part. I do. I just have a few other things I need to do first because I said I'd do them and I didn't anticipate this _needing_ another part when I started it. But here we are. Hopefully this will suffice in the meantime!
> 
> Thanks for reading! As ever, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to see what else I'm working on. 007 Fest will be starting in July, so you can expect a lot more stuff from me (and the other talented members of the Bond fandom) soon!

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is complete, but a bit on the long side, so there'll be weekly updates 'til it's all posted. Thanks for reading, if you got this far!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/%22) if you like, I'm always happy to chat


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